Under The Burning Sky
by Nan of Ingleside
Summary: Di Blythe was nineteen and her future seemed to stretch out before her like a straight road. But upon the outbreak of the Great War, she was faced with a bend in that road. And her life would never be safe or predictable again.
1. Before The Storm

_Well, it's been a while._

_I'm happy to be here again, writing to you! My life has been changing quite rapidly in my absence. I graduated, got accepted to my dream M.A. studies, have been working my fingers to the bone. But that doesn't mean I've forsaken to world of LMM!_

_This story has been in my head for years now. I'm going to take it really slow this time. No rushing, no lick-and-promise writing. Research. As much insight as possible. Breathing life into new characters, bringing up some of the old friends. That's more or less where I want to take it._

_Some points in the story are references to its prequel, Nan of Avonlea. You can read about them in the last couple of chapters (approximately five). Or you can just skip that. I hope to make flashbacks enough of a background. They won't be that important, anyway. Everything is going to change throughout the course of this story._

_Because this story is supposed to be different. I suspect some of you (maybe even most of you) may not like it all that much. I want to make my characters come to life, show their weaknesses, shake their principles and beliefs. Because my vision of WWI is closer to the one from TBAQ than RoI. Therefore my characters, my narration are going to differ quite considerably from what you might expect from a LMM fanfiction. _

_This chapter is telling rather than showing. It's an introduction to Di, to the way she is going to be portrayed here. _I would love to hear your opinions, also- or even especially- the negative ones. As always, I would be more than grateful for indicating any mistakes that escaped my notice. I'm still not a native. ;-)__

_Oh, and- I do sincerely hope that I'm not too late for some of my 'previous' readers. I've missed all of you._

* * *

As she opened the window, sun rays fell into the room, accompanied by slight puffs of salty breeze. She watched them pick up glints here and there on the narrow, shimmering ribbon of the brook in the Valley as she basked in the warmth for a little while. Baby Rilla was going to have splendid weather for her first dance, and thanks be, as she would have never forgiven the universe if it had been otherwise.

But then, not _everything_ had to be about Baby Rilla's first dance, did it? Even though she certainly thought so, frantically running about all day long, hauling Miss Oliver behind,

"Like a chicken with its head cut off," Shirley had hit the nail on the head, mumbling into Nan's ear at breakfast that morning.

It wasn't that she irritated Di, not exactly. As the eldest daughter, she even felt a touch of mother-hen pride and just a little sliver of wicked amusement. But- she was a little bitter.

"Which is never good before a dance," she said to herself.

She tore off a card in the calendar. August 4th, 1914. Di couldn't help a feeling it was going to be a special day. She was not one to fall for superstitions and misgivings; that share of the Blythe- or maybe rather, Shirley- ancestry had definitely fallen into Nan's lap. But there was something in the air; even her sensible, practical nature had to admit it. Something different, something- unforeseeable.

Not that the dance itself was all that stirring. She sighed with resignation, thinking of the company that was to be expected. The old gang of the Rainbow Valley days- Rilla, Miss Oliver and Shirley coming buckshee- among the Glen St. Mary and Mowbray Narrows young fry, whose faces were all well-known and familiar- and as workaday, commonplace and trivial as they could possibly be.

She had spent a whole year at home, teaching in Mowbray Narrows and commuting back to Glen St. Mary with Dad after his daily rounds. Ten repetitive, monotonous months. She had always been rather lonely in the glen if Merediths and her own siblings were not to be counted and it had certainly come to bear in their absence. Her only real good chum was Laura Douglas nee Carr, who had recently had a baby girl- a little thing just as plain, freckled and sandy- haired as her mother, although Di had sworn her to be an indescribable sweetling, of course- and, accordingly, had very little time for their nice, longish talks. Una Meredith, surprisingly, was also very busy. All the alternative choices were not _quite_ acceptable. Take Irene Howard with her spiteful, vanity- driven, lackadaisical conduct. Or Ethel Reese, forever trying to investigate her about whether Ken Ford was going to grace the Four Winds with his presence that summer. She still chuckled at the reminiscence of the poor boy's desperate attempts to put her off the scent.

As for the male part of the company- Di could not be surprised in this department, either. Their merits had been fairly well mapped out to her- and not very impressive. They were still the same boys with whom she had gone to school; Harry Lewison who had once stained her new muslin dress with ink and Dan Reese who never addressed her with any other denomination than 'Ginger'. The odds of being swept off her feet by a surge of romantic emotions were not very high.

Still, one _does_ want to look her best at parties, especially among the good-looking lot of Ingleside and the manse. Her new pale green organdy would have been just perfect for that - Dad was such a dear to buy it for her in Lowbridge to make sure she wouldn't feel 'unduly countrified' among 'Kingsport's spiteful cats'! But Rilla had burst into her room at noon, with despair-filled eyes, confessing that _she_ had planned to wear green to the dance- her _first_ grown-up dance- could Di maybe change?

Di was not a bad sister and it was rather funny to observe Rilla trying to strike the right balance between asking politely and threatening- but she had to resent the fact that brown silk was not quite as fit for a summer party. And not half as good with accentuating the milky whiteness of her skin. But she hoped that the night could still be enjoyable, with Walter by her side and Faith and Nan finally back. Although the latter was not that much of a comfort, really, since they were both bound to disappear into thin air with Jem and Jerry after a dance or two.

That was a surprising new touch to their connections, as well. Not so much so in the case of Faith and Jem maybe, but- Di couldn't help but wonder what possible reason Nan could have to fall for Jerry Meredith, of all people! Di had found the recent mishap with Ken and Jerry rather funny; her clever, learned, witty Nan had turned out to be as helpless and confused in the realm of sweethearting as possible. Di had seen fit to intervene, for the sake of both her sisters- although Baby Rilla, rather comically, was still of the persuasion that nobody noticed how infatuated she was- and the relations of the Blythe family with Fords and Merediths. The former were a bit strained now, as Ken showed up more sparsely those days. But it would pass, Nan assured her all the time, as she came into her room, time and time again, to discuss the whole confusion. Diana was inclined to think she was right; she and Ken were like two peas in a pot, they never _really_ quarreled. A tad of hurt pride and awkwardness, that was all- nothing that time and a few friendly gestures couldn't mend. And Nan was so deliriously happy that she was both a delight and a laughing-stock to watch.

Di could not understand it, personally. Granted, Jerry had 'turned out fine', as Mrs. Elliot would say, with all the attributes of an eligible bachelor, but he was still- well, Jerry. A boy from Glen St. Mary, a childhood chum with a very teasing manner and just that one bit of erudition too much for his own good. To tell the truth, she did not expect the charm to last very long in Kingsport, especially given the surprisingly vivid and clear memory of the dashing student who had helped Nan with her suitcase when she came back home from Avonlea. He was definitely more of the dreamy, romantic hero she saw Nan with. She just couldn't help thinking Jerry was not one for her- that perhaps Faith and Jem had served as some sort of an incentive- for no one in Glen St. Mary or Four Winds seemed right for _either_ one of them.

Somehow, Diana had always imagined that both for her twin and for herself, life would begin for real after leaving home and settling in a more sophisticated place. She loved Ingleside dearly, of course she did! But she had always thought- _known_\- that their lives would be shaped away from it and its countryside ways.

Di had unknowingly put herself in the position of an observer, feeling oddly suspended for a while. Having no ardent interest in the life of Glen St. Mary, she had resolved to prepare herself for Redmond to the best of her abilities. She had been learning unrelentingly the whole time; in fact, she had grown a little tired of all the old wisdoms of Plato. But there was- always had been- a touch of twin rivalry between her and Nan in the academic sphere and she was determined to do her very best. As for the other aspects of their life in Kingsport- she just couldn't wait to rush head- first into _everything_! Oh, how they would take college by storm! She was not intimidated in the least, as Nan had confessed to be; no, she was raring to go! They would surround themselves with artists, musicians, Canada's future writers, poets for Walter- and some social reformers for Nan, too! They would all be brash and broad-minded, full of innovatory ideas, as all students should rightfully be. A boisterous and ambitious group of slight rakes, that's how she saw them, all incredibly winsome- and one exceptional gentleman especially so-

A dull thump snatched her out of her animated fits of imagination. It was Nan's signal for Di to come downstairs. It always took the younger Ingleside twin longer to get ready, with her time-consuming rites of brushing her hair fifty times- no more and no less- and putting cream on her face- Mother's old trick, that even Susan used. Di had caught her red-handed once, on one of her late night prowling trips to the pantry, her face smeared all white. How ridiculously flustered she had been! Di herself never had the patience nor the bent to deal with all the beauty enhancing procedures which her sister went about so conscientiously. It just took too much time and she far preferred to have another go at one of the novellas printed in 'The Daily Enterprise' in the privacy of her own room. She would have died if someone had seen her reading them, for she was perfectly aware of their poor quality. She would be especially mortified if Walter found out, but she quite enjoyed them after all the 'ologies and isms' she had forced herself to study- it was her guilty pleasure nobody had to know about. She locked the paper in the desk drawer, glad to still have a few pages to go through after she came back, and went downstairs, to the hall.

No matter how hard she would try, she couldn't fault the girl she found in the hallway mirror. Except for the dress, naturally.

She examined her face closely. She was told, time and time again, to look extraordinarily similar to her Mother- but she knew that similarity was very superficial. Her features lacked a certain bit of subtleness, her movements the elusive, almost imperceptible poise and her eyes the dreamy luster. She felt, sometimes, that she was Mother's shell, an infelicitous copy created by a cursory gesture, next to a masterpiece. Put very brusquely, she did not have the inner charm to elucidate her looks; she was far too sensible and practical for that. Thanks be she had taken Mother's height and her pretty nose; but there was one bit of her ancestry she had never resigned herself to.

Father loved her hair and so did Walter. But Di detested every single lock. And it seemed to be getting worse with time. It once had merely a swirl to it, just like Mother's, curling at its ends. But with time, it seemed to have developed a personality of its own- and a very boisterous one. It was positively _frizzy_, unmanagable and red with the vivid, marigold- like redness. Not quite like little Rilla's sleek brown-tinted waves and _certainly_ not like Nan's dark, glossy cascade.

But now, for once, it looked decent. With the aid of Nan's nimble fingers and some mysterious concoction drawn from a small glass jar, it had straightened itself and now smoothly fell down her arms in thick waves, lending her face a tangible contour. The four freckles which had crept up on her nose through the summer were not visible against it. Her eyes were lucidly greenish, not quite green enough to be really striking but still undeniably alluring. Di smiled as she took a step back to fix her skirt.

A lightsome patter played on the staircase, behind her back. Di turned around, but Nan was already next to her, playfully brushing against her hip with her own one, pushing her aside.

"Make some space, popinjay," she said teasingly. "May I remind you there's only one mirror in this house big enough to show the whole silhouette- and it has to go round for three daughters."

Di watched as Nan carefully slipped back a few lustrous, unruly strands. She had had her hair trimmed by a hairdresser in Charlottetown just the other day and Di had to admit she looked delightful with this new fluffy forelock.

Had she ever been jealous of Nan's appearance? Why, of course! How could she not be, when her sister drew both the Blythe looks _and_ the Shirley nose out of the genetic pool? But she was, at the same time, the most ardent admirer of Nan's beauty- with the exception of Jerry Meredith, maybe.

Faith Meredith may have been beautiful with the queenly, classical sort of beauty and Persis Ford was downright gorgeous with her blue eyes, golden hair and dimpled smile. But, in Di's eyes at least, Nan's beauty overshadowed them both, precisely because it was of a subtler, more delicate kind. She had always thought her sister looked like an elphin changeling among them, with that flower-like face of hers, porcelain skin and dark fans of eyelashes. So yes, Di was jealous at times. Having an especially lovely sister while being only relatively attractive yourself necessities jealousy. But she was envious in her smart, sensible way, without resentment, bitterness and rivalry.

Nan was in white muslin. She wrapped a pearlstring around her simple bun, then fixed her rose posy. Jerry always sent Nan roses and somehow they always managed to go perfectly with her dress choice for the occasion. Di had to smirk; Nan might have been enamored, but she wasn't taking any chances.

Diana looked into the mirror which now showed them both. Then she heaved a meaningful sigh. Nan froze, her hands pressed to her cheeks.

"I absolutely hate it when you do that," she said caustically.

"Make an effort and look just a tiny bit worse, then."

"I am!" Nan cried despairingly and pointed at a single blemish on her peaches and cream complexion. Not big enough to be noticed by anyone else than Nan herself, of course. "A pimple, today! Even cream didn't help- and it's so dreadfully visible! I'm so desperate I could strike another deal with God."

"Nan Blythe!" Diana said with mock indignation.

"Well, he did help me with my missing tooth once, remember? Before Amy Taylor's birthday party," her sister laughed light-heartedly. She fixed her dress again, then suddenly blurted out, "You really have no reason to sigh, Di. You look perfectly lovely."

"Hm. Thank you. But it doesn't change the fact that nobody will notice my perfect loveliness when I'm next to you."

"You know that's not true. You're also perfectly aware that Harry Lewison is head over heels for you, you wicked thing!"

Diana waved her hand dismissively, as Nan was scanning her figure.

"But this dress is no good," she pronounced authoritatively. "That is, it's lovely and it suits you. But it's just not– not- _right_. Not today."

"Well, what else should I do?" Di asked with a touch of irritation, as Nan had touched a sore spot. "I wanted to wear my new green one, but _apparently_ Rilla holds the monopoly for everything from olive to mint."

Nan nodded in understanding.

"I am going to wear my silver slippers from Aunt Leslie, though, whether or not our dear Baby wears hers!" Di said defiantly.

Nan smirked knowingly and lifted her skirt a little to reveal her feet, clad in the said footgear. Then she knitted her brow, thinking intensely.

"Brown silk just does not ring well next to a dance at the light. That just begs for muslin- or white lace," she pronounced with solemnity and all of a sudden snapped her fingers, beaming with joy, having found a solution. Di had to smile. "Preferably the Chantilly type, like the one Aunt Leslie sent me recently!"

There, the camel's back broke. Nan was tall now- and she had always been very slender, with narrow waist and well balanced arms. Di, on the other hand, had always slanted towards plumpness- and a year worth of the Susan diet had taken its toll, much to her dismay. She almost stomped her foot.

"Nan, you know perfectly well it won't fit me. I couldn't _possibly_ squeeze myself into it."

"No need to get in a huff!" Nan retorted. Di wondered fleetingly where she took such expressions from, Mr. Douglas? "You didn't let me finish. It's a bit loose for me, and I haven't had it taken in yet. So you will _squeeze_ yourself into it alright!"

Despite her protests, Nan dragged her upstairs and made her change. And when Di stood in front of the mirror again, she had to admit her sister had been right. She was utterly transformed.

"We'll both be wearing white, though. Quite proper if we are to fit our roles of Cinderella's ugly sisters for the night."

Nan laughed before rushing into Dad's study to come back with an orchid bud.

"Don't tell on me!" she said, winking. "There. It wouldn't have gone with the brown one, but it's perfect now. You have just the looks for the little extravagant bits, and you're the only one of us, too."

She observed the result with apparent self-satisfaction.

"Really, Di Blythe, you could be such a bijou if only you-"

"What, learned how to dress properly?" Di cut in caustically. Nan's face froze in an unstrung expression before wincing visibly.

"I was going to say 'believed in yourself'," she said slowly. "Are you really going to act towards me as all the other girls do? Imputing how shallow and conceited I am? Di, you know that's what I hate most- you know that's what _hurts_ me most!"

There was a querulous note to her voice, and Di felt terrible. She had let her own insecurities get the better of her and there was the result. She knew that Nan's strained contacts with the female part of Glen St. Mary's lot would always rankle and so she rushed with the apology.

"Nan, I didn't mean it to sound like that! I'm sorry- I really am. You know I don't think that about you- you must know that. I've told you too many times not to worry about those idiots."

Nan shot her a brief, but meaningful look. She didn't answer; the doorbell rang and she rushed to open it.

"I could be perfectly happy now if I knew I was going to actually dance," Faith Meredith chirped as she went inside, Una- quiet as ever- a few steps behind her. "It's a night made for dancing and I am not going to hide how jealous I am of you both. And Una here tells me I have no right to be, since there will be taffy pull and plenty of work in the kitchen for us. Fancy that! Why, Di, you look bully!"

"Ah, the ever so flattering surprise in your voice," Diana sneered good-naturedly. "Not to mention the elegant vocabulary of your compliment. I must connote really well in your mind."

Faith giggled, amused, and turned to Nan again.

"I have no doubts putting myself in your hands now," she handed over a little bag with hairstyling paraphernalia.

"You mean to tell me you did have doubts?" Nan cried with pretended rancor and they all laughed. "Come, I have just the thing for you."

They settled in the Ingleside parlor, and as Nan was too focused brushing Faith's lovely, golden tresses and Di too enraptured gazing at them longingly, Una got a word in edgeways.

"I wasn't going to come," she said. "Baby Bruce is not feeling quite right today and I wanted-"

"To deny yourself another pleasure because of him," Faith cut in. "It's a good job Mother Rosemary forced you to go. You've made a perfect slave of yourself, Una."

"It would have been a shame if nobody saw you in this dress, too," Nan said with a smile.

Di agreed with her; Una was not one to be seen on Glen St. Mary's gatherings very often. She knew that better than anybody else, having spent the year at home. They rarely got to see her in anything else than her simple, though very neat cotton dresses. She now looked quite bewitching in her dark blue taffeta, her hair braided into a perfect imitation of Mrs. Meredith's simple updo. She was still quite plain, Di thought, but her almond-shaped, indigo eyes had an utterly new and quite intriguing look about them, as if she knew all the secrets in the world. She told her that, for she had a feeling Una would not get many compliments- unrightly so- as nobody ever seemed to think of her in _that_ way.

Diana had some suspicions about Una. Being too quiet and angelic to be involved in any sweethearting business, as it seemed so brusque with regard to her, did not mean Una herself did not harbor any secret feelings. She was too honest to to hide anything, really, and Di wondered at times why her beautiful eyes shone so peculiarly whenever Walter entered the room. Her cheeks took on a slight shade of pink when he spoke to her and she grew even more abashed and quiet than usual. It might have been very intuitive, as Walter did enjoy her wordless, soothing presence in his reconvalescence.

"Una has to be in the background, somewhere," he had told Di once. "Otherwise, nothing seems to be quite right."

She sighed a little then and did not respond. In the background- and only that. For the one who was always on Walter's pedestal was- Faith, unfortunately. Di could not help but think Walter's ardent love for beauty was what had led him astray in this case. She had every reason to think Una loved him- and Una was most capable of the selfless, loyal, enduring kind of love. Faith, on the other hand-

Faith _was_ lovely, of course, inside and out. 'Pride of the community', Mrs. Elliot called her. But she seemed a bit too earthbound for Walter- too loud, too boisterous. And next to her quiet sister, all her qualities suddenly seemed slightly less valuable- although Di would not be caught dead verbalizing that opinion. What was really crucial was the fact that she belonged to Jem and Jem alone. But she knew about Walter's feelings perfectly well, girls like her always know. It was obvious by the way she had been trying to avoid him ever since she came back from Kingsport.

Di was snatched out of her reverie by Faith herself, laughing wildly at something Nan had whispered into her ear. They had grown very close in the past few weeks, due to the similarity of their plights. It seemed that when they were not with Jem and Jerry, they were together, giggling over confessions about them-

Ah, there it was again. That little sliver of resentment which Di felt at times. Nan had been away for so long that every twin in her right mind would think they would be inseparable after she finally came back home. Di had thought so, anyway. But Nan seemed to be growing apart, keeping so many secrets- Jerry's, Jem's, her own ones. The four 'lovebirds', as Glen St. Mary had grown to call them, had taken to spend time in their own company and it left her feeling very isolated. To be fair, Nan did try to spend as much time with her as possible.

"Penciling me in," Di thought, as it was obvious she was not a priority in her sister's agenda at the moment. Perhaps for that reason Di had taken against Faith a little; that, and also because of her perfect listlessness regarding Walter's feelings. She _was_ happy for Jem! But she couldn't help feeling Faith would become a wedge between her brothers. That estranged her, although she was perfectly aware that it was unfounded and quite wrongful. Oh, but _knowing_ was so much different than _feeling_!

"There," Nan said all at once, handing over a little mirror. "I do consider myself a prodigy, to skip the false modesty."

Di finally understood why Nan had been casting sideward glances to the mantelpiece the whole time. She had been looking at Artemis of the Silver Bow, recreating her updo. It was very becoming, especially coupled with Faith's maroon georgette.

"Who will you be hunting tonight?" Di snickered a little, as Faith looked at herself with visible approval.

"Try and get a few arrows in Irene Howard, will you?" Nan asked, picking up the remaining hair pins.

"She'll be there?" Faith groaned. "I hoped she would still be in Charlottetown, at her aunt's, having some more dresses done to make us all feel provincial to the core."

"No," Nan informed her grimly. "She is more than sure to be there at our service, dropping little remarks about buying a cow when you can get milk for free. She won't be insinuating anything, naturally."

To take their minds off the matter, Di asked one of her down-to-earth questions.

"And how did your house- hunting go? Did you find anything?"

Faith had one to Kingsport with Jerry to find a flat for the three of them. The twins were initially to stay with Uncle Irving's family, Little Elizabeth- Mrs. Irving now- and their daughter, Anne Lavendar. But Uncle Paul had gotten a Professorship at Kingsport and they had found themselves rather awkwardly accommodated with their future lecturer.

"Not much," Faith shook her head sorrowfully. "It was rather late when you told me about it. Firstly, I almost didn't get my down payment back- but you know how persuasive Jerry can be when dealing with dishonest landlords," Nan almost swelled with pride, and Di had to cover a smirk again.

"And I wouldn't be dragged to that shabby boarding house by wild horses ever again! Then all the other flats were either too small or too expensive. And then- I did find something quite fit for all three of us. It's what Kingsport calls 'the students' crescent', all the houses are rented by our Redmond lot. I have been there visiting friends before. The house seemed comfortable enough, and there were some trees for you in the back garden, Nan, and the distance to the college is sensible enough, just as you would like it, Di."

Both twins looked up hopefully.

"The problem is, there are three bedrooms in the house, one of which has two beds. Two of us would have to live together."

"But- but that's not a problem, is it, Di?" Nan said unhesitatingly. "We shared a room at Queen's, after all."

"Yes- but the third room would be empty then- we'd have to pay for it as the landlord did not agree to look for another tenant for us- and I cannot possibly afford that, even with Jerry's scholarship," Faith spluttered, a guilty glow creeping up her full cheeks. "I could only pay for a little cubicle at the ground floor. And this other room is quite big, so it won't be easy to find a cotenant."

Di and Nan were both quiet for a moment- then they exchanged meaningful glances, which did not escape Faith's notice. She looked at them expectantly.

"We- might have a solution," Nan said haltingly. "I just don't know how you're going to take to our proposal."

"You can find that out very easily, just by telling me," Faith sneered.

"Oh, don't talk like Jerry," Nan bristled up, pouting. "Really, one oversmart Meredith is enough for the world to bear."

They all laughed and then Di said with sudden decision,

"We might have a just the right person to rent the bigger room. Money seems to be no object in her case."

"Is Irene Howard going to Redmond?" Faith asked in horror.

"No- but Persis Ford is," Di said straightforwardly, receiving her share of kicks in the ankle, Nan's way of rebuking her for the lack of diplomacy.

Faith knitted her brow.

"Persis is going to study in Redmond?" she asked disbelievingly. "For why? She could study in Toronto, for crying out loud! And Ken tells me she is already a hit with all the Sophomores and half the Juniors, even though she's only been there once, to fetch a book he'd forgotten."

"Out of sheer contrariness, I suppose," Nan said honestly. "And to go against Aunt Leslie. Her letter came the day you went to Kingsport. She wants to at least begin college somewhere quiet and away from home, because she was bickering with Aunty all the time in Japan."

"They're much too similar to live in peace, that's that," Di shrugged her shoulders. "Uncle Owen was not very happy to have his little girl go away, but gave his permission eventually. Fathers are naturally more agreeable."

"You'd know, wouldn't you?" Nan smirked at her twin. "Oh, it all seemed so inopportune- but now it would be quite timely, wouldn't it? It's just that- we know you and Persis are not on the best of terms," Nan fidgeted unsteadily, dropping hairpins all around. Una had been picking them up for a while.

But then Faith stood up and impatiently folded her arms across her chest.

"Oh, stop it, both of you!" she admonished.

"Stop what?"

"Walking on eggshells around me, as if I were some overbearing despot, always ordering you about. Of course it's a perfect solution. I don't know Persis much, but I suppose she can't be too bad, you all being such friends with her and Ken being such a chum. And if I'm honest-" Faith suddenly lost much of her momentum, "I am quite ashamed that I never agreed to meet Persis- not for real. I was a goose and- I suppose I was just jealous of her. I mean, Glen St. Mary seethes with legends about her beauty and her wits- and _clothes_\- so I felt a little threatened that you wouldn't like me as much as her. Such a little fool! As long as _she_ doesn't mind living with me, I am not going to object."

The ever impulsive Nan tossed aside her bag- all the hairpins dropping on the floor to poor Una's dismay- and clasped her in a tight embrace.

"Oh, we're going to have so much fun together- you'll love Persis, you'll see!"

If Faith had any doubts about it, she did not voice them and Di felt quite reverent towards her. She had always known Faith felt insecure about Persis- but she would never have expected her to admit it so openly.

"We'll have to write back as soon as possible," she remarked, knowing Nan might be too happy about the prospect to remember such trivialities. "As soon as we come back tonight. That reminds me- what time is it?"

The clamor in the hall harbingered the arrival of the boys. They all piled outside where Nan and Faith received their usual share of compliments; Jem went about them rather vocally, while Jerry somehow managed to express the same admiration in just one look. Walter gallantly attended to the unacccompanied girls.

"You are a night nymph, Una," he said with a wistful smile on his beautiful lips. Then he turned to her- and his eyes shone. "This coiled hair on your head, unrolled, fell down you like a gorgeous snake," he quoted, smiling. "You look just like a blazing snowflake."

Mother came out to wave them out, as always. Susan was behind her, sulking, for the twins had skipped dinner to make sure their dresses would look as good as possible.

"And to leave some space for all the goodies at the lighthouse," Di had explained, but it did not help, as Susan only sulked more to think they put the Lewisons' cakes over her roast.

Rilla emerged from behind them. She _was_ rather lovely in her green dress, but Di couldn't help thinking she looked like a child dressed up as an adult. As the oldest sister, she was quick to forget that she herself had been only slightly older than Rilla when she first went to a party. Nan nudged her with an elbow and her eyes pierced Rilla's hair.

"How does she even lift her head with so many pansies on it?" she whispered and they both giggled a little. It might have seemed vicious, but it was only sheer amusement at Rilla's unflagging efforts to appear older than she was- or even than they were.

"You look very pretty, Rilla," Nan said loudly, a bit repentant, and Di nodded eagerly. 'Baby need not know' had always been the twins' saying.

Jem summoned them all and they left the house, laughing, taking one another by the arm and waving back.

"Don't be mad, Susan!" Nan called over her shoulder. "I won't be able to dance properly if I know you're angry with me!"

Susan sent her a sullen look and graciously waved the dishcloth she was holding.

Di was a little disappointed to see that Walter, having bestowed an ounce of interest on Una for once, renounced her utterly and pulled her to the side. But it was not very strong- Una would walk with Shirley, as usual, and _she_ could selfishly enjoy Walter's company. Goodness knows they both needed a little oasis of time for themselves, with Rilla always following him around.

Di breathed in the resinous air. Rilla might have had the dress, but she was _never_ taking Walter away. Di would have been far more militant in that case. But then, she heaved a little sigh of contentment, she would not have to. Walter bent his head, as he was wont to, when he was about to tell a secret- a secret he wouldn't share with anyone else than her.


	2. A Walk To The Light

_here, another filler chapter. I feel like the story needs a background since the next chapter will be rather eventful, hence the rather static introduction in the first two. it's rather short if that's any comfort._

_I'm not sure how I did- but then I hardly ever am. Walter is my greatest fear; I just can't muster enough depth to write him well. is he- bearable, at least?_

_I wanted to thank you or all your reviews- special thanksgo to AnneFan here, as I cannot PM you- I'm always so glad to receive them, they are the greatest source of insight and inspiration! and it feels so nice to get them at the beginning of a story, there can really be no greater encouragement. I hope you will share your impressions with me- also the ones about things I got wrong- so that I could get them right (ish)._

_the underlined part comes from LMM's 'Rilla of Ingleside'._

* * *

As soon as they piled out the Ingleside gate, to the accompaniment of Dog Monday's rueful howling, they paired off after a fashion. Jem walked with Faith Meredith, naturally, and Jerry Meredith with Nan. Di and Walter were together, walking slowly; Walter inhaling the dark loveliness of the evening, Di- examining their little crowd, gradually swelling with neighbors as the parade moved through the Glen.

Oh, there was Carl Meredith for you, marching next to Miranda Pryor for the purpose of tormenting Joe Milgrave and nothing else; the poor boy would not get a lot of his beloved 'bug-talk'- Susan's term- since Miranda would probably squeek and run- or, more likely, faint to hear about the lately Westropp's discovery. She sometimes cast hankering glances at Joe, but walked on sedately, the appreciation of the company of Queen's graduate and parson's son in one person smeared across her pallid face. Di chuckled.

Shirley and Una walked together again. They were both rather silent and, even having known their quiet nature and the likely contentment at not having to talk in excess, she still could not fathom how they managed to stay so calm and unmoved in the face of the beauty surrounding them. As for herself, she could have sung in loud voice at that very moment.

"I know what you're thinking of," Walter whispered. "You're wondering whether Kingsport will look so beautiful at night. Or am I wrong?"

"When have you ever been wrong?"

The dark road uncoiled before them with all its little firs and spruces, closing them in a dome of resinous, balmy air. The westerning hills were still tinted with the last vestiges on sunlight, but the sky above their heads was canopied with stars, twinking- as though they were at their fingertips. Di turned her head a little and Walter' clear, manly profile came into view. He added to the beauty of the night.

Walter was, as he had always been, the handsomest of the Ingleside boys, with those glossy black hair and faultless features of his. His eyes were gray- gray like frost flowers, like silvery mists over dark valleys, and always somewhat distant; but the inner luster suggested that wherever his soul was wandering- it was a very beautiful place. A poet to his fingertips, Miss Oliver had once said, and rightly so!

Diana admired and loved Walter with all her heart. She couldn't even compare the feelings harbored for him in her heart to those she had for Jem or Shirley _and_ she didn't feel an ounce of guilt. Walter was just as devoted to her.

What was once called 'especial chums' in the Ingleside parlance had turned into affinity of souls. If they had often said the same thing together as children- at present they did not even need to speak, they just looked into each other's eyes. Their hearts spoke one language. Walter almost always called her 'My Di' and her ear caught the emphasis on the pronoun, that one precious bit more prominent than in his pet name for little Rilla. They belonged to each other, now- and would belong always and forever. She desperately wanted to believe that.

And it seemed so, for all the world, as they walked on in comfortable silence. Jem and Faith rushed ahead of them, engrossed in a story he was telling.

"The doctor lost both his legs–they were smashed to pulp–and he was left on the field to die. And he crawled about from man to man, to all the wounded men round him, as long as he could, and did everything possible to relieve their sufferings–never thinking of himself–he was tying a bit of bandage round another man's leg when he went under. They found them there, the doctor's dead hands still held the bandage tight, the bleeding was stopped and the other man's life was saved. Some hero, wasn't he, Faith? I tell you when I read that–"

Di moaned.

"I know it's a beautiful story of courage, sacrifice and the goodness of human nature; why, I almost cried when I read it myself. But I do wish Jem would save it for a more fitting occasion. Does Faith really take so kindly to it, I wonder?"

"Oh, is _that_ any better, in your opinion?" Walter laughed and, in one of his all too rare fits of cutting humor, nodded to another pair, speeding past them.

"_No_, the war is not said and done yet! I refuse to believe it so long as it is not declared. I swear, Jerry, I have yet to meet a fatalist like you- to think I could have gone with Una and Shirl instead!" Nan seethed, but somehow managed to do it in a low voice, softened by a warm undertone. The power of her message suffered greatly.

Di and Walter exchanged eloquent glances- and laughed light-heartedly. Then Di noticed a little envious look which Baby Rilla shot her over Miss Oliver's head- and she wound her arm through his.

"Rilla looks lovely," she said magnanimously, as he pressed her fingers.

"Exeptionally so," Walter corrected her. "She looks lovely on a daily basis. Tonight she is as fair as the dawn and as fresh as a- pansy, rather than daisy."

"Oh, of course, she's in fine feather. A bit too fine for her first dance- a bit too early for a girl not yet fifteen- a bit too much for a party which Irene Howard will attend. I can already hear the gossips she is going to send into the air after tonight! But, well, since Ken is going to be there-"

She caught Walter's eyes in the midst of her tirade.

"Oh, don't look at me with this sad, reproachful older- brotherly look! I'm not being vicious- I love our Baby as much as anyone could. I'm just more objective than you are, since she does not fawn over me so devotedly. And I have the uncomfortable role of the outstaged sister to play for tonight. Hence the chip on my shoulder, I suppose."

Walter laughed his quiet, velvety laugh.

"As if anyone could do that," he said, taking both her hands in his and standing in front of her. "Outshine you, that is. Not you- you with all your moonshine charm, that ever-changing play of feeling on your sweet, freckled face. Not now, when you look just like a full-blown anemone. No, My Di, Nan may be a flower elf and Rilla a sweet, little sylphid- but you are a dryad, you are one with the winds, you whisper with the woods. The laurel of the beauty of Ingleside rests on your head, dear."

Di blushed at this poem of a compliment, but she was not pleased enough not to notice a little loophole; Faith Meredith could not stake claims to the title reserved for Ingleside girls.

"My, I am so glad you are my brother. I would be swept off my feet now, if I were just another Glen girl swooning at you."

But his admiration touched her very heart. It was something real as Walter never told falsehoods; it came straight from his beauty-longing heart. Had anyone else said the words, they would have been thoroughly cliché perhaps. But from Walter- they were all truth and all poetry.

He smiled, as Di rested her head on his shoulder, resuming their walk. She felt a fleeting touch of remorse for her treatment of Rilla; perhaps she had been a little too rapacious, driven by an undercurrent of jealousy. But how silly would she be now, thinking a little sister could as much as near the place in his heart reserved for her- and her alone!

When Rilla looked back again, Di smiled at her. She suddenly felt sorry for her, knowing the pains which jealousy may set ablaze. But she soon turned away, for one such pain was sparkled in her own heart.

Far before them, two pairs were binding. Jem and Jerry were both positively galloping forward, hauling Faith and Nan behind; they all met at the turn of the road from which, Di knew, they could see the harbor shore. They had covered the whole distance without a glance back, without a single thought about the rest of the company- and now Nan and Faith linked their free arms with each other. They were both positively beaming with aplomb and glee- and seemed fully absorbed in their companions and each other.

Di didn't manage to scowl, however; at that very moment Nan turned back and, not having a free hand to beckon her with, she made do with a summoning toss of her head.

It didn't matter that Jem, impatient to skipper one of the boats moored near the little pier right below the quiet House of Dreams, pulled them firmly and they bumped into one another like beads on a string, laughing as if there was no greater joy in the world than tripping on a sandy road- other than having your toes stepped over.

But Di unbent her half-knitted brow. Nan did notice, after all- and she turned around as soon as Di's heart began to fret in doubt. As if she could sense it. Their bond- a bond which only twins can know- was not severed; if one of them moved away, the other one was drawn in her direction.

"I am much too old for the amounts of jealousy I still have in me," she mused in thought. "Nan and Walt both would speak with one voice that I'm acting ridiculous."

Nan saved a place in the boat for her, right next to herself- and she even thought of Walter, positioning him directly in front of Di. Right next to Faith Meredith, too, but poor Nan was not to know how inopportune this seating was.

Thanks be that Jem and Joe Milgrave urged everybody into the boats as if they had no manners at all, impatient for their race; thanks be that Jem was so disgruntled upon losing that Nan sneered at his scowl all the way upon the rock-cut step, lined with Japanese lanterns and wallflower fellows; thanks be, finally, that Rilla was so excited that she almost left her old, comfortable shoes at the pier, as she was so quick as to put on her silver slippers before the climb. Thanks be that no one noticed Faith's sudden silence and Walter's darkened, stormy eyes. Thanks be, in particular, that Una didn't see it, chasing Rilla with her boots.

And that Di herself did not have to watch his torment for long.


	3. The Piper's Call

_hello, again! _

_I've proofread and changed it so many times that I'm confused about the effect. there is a slight deviation from the main plot in the form of some Nan/Jerry fluff- oblige me. ;-) sometimes, though not too often, I will be departing from Di's point of view, just because I will have so many characters in the story that it would be a shame not to explore their experiences. and I hope it's more pardonable now, when she is slightly less afflicted by the war than some other girls. _

_than you for your wonderful reviews! it is great to receive them in the very first flush of a story. AnneFan, thank you especially for your kind words about Walter, I'm always really nervous about him. I hope this next installment does not let you down... too much._

_the underlined parts come from 'Rilla of Ingleside'. _

* * *

Rilla's first party was a triumph\- but she was not the only one enjoying herself. As soon as Di stepped inside the lighthouse, filled to the brim with laughter and music, somebody grabbed her card to claim the first one of her dances.

The host of the dance himself- Harry Lewison, of course! Di's lips curved in the faintest of smirks.

The Blythes had more connection to the Lewisons than any other family in Four Winds; Father had saved the younger of their two daughters, little Hannah, from a dangerous round of pneumonia. Ever since, they have been honoring 'that invaluable Dr. Blythe' with countless invitations to the many enterprises which they organized whenever they came to their summer house in the Upper Glen. They hailed from Charlottetown, which made them seem like the next of kin to the queen herself in the eyes of the Glen folk; although Miss Cornelia scoffed at them as 'Methodists, Methodists to the core'.

Di, for her part, knew better. She had spent many a summer day, playing with the Lewison children either at Ingleside or at the Lewisons' abode; she and Nan sometimes babysitted little Hannah. She knew Harry Lewison may have moved in higher cirles, he may have attended theaters more frequently and traveled more broadly than any of the boys she knew- save Ken Ford, of course- but that didn't mean his tastes or pursuits were any more elevated.

"You look very pretty tonight, Di," was the pinnacle of his finesse presently. Di thanked him with a smile, appreciating the rapture in his voice if not the wording, and let him scribble his name on some more waltzes on her card. He was not a disagreeable looking fellow; in fact, he was rather handsome with the rugged, manly kind of good-looks. She knew he was 'gone' on her, as the Glen young fry would have it, and although she did not reciprocate his feelings- oh, what a prospect!- it felt strangely satisfying to have some attendance danced on you.

She whirled around happily for a little while, humming to the witching music of Ned Burr's violin. Harry was rather funny, too, and her loud, vivacious laugh rang in the room, making Walter turn his head to find her in the crowd and smile joyfully.

Then Ned ordained the new confusion of a dance called foxtrotte, which Di had to split between two partners- then she danced with Jem, who was about to leave with Faith and so wanted to deliver on his brotherly duties, then Hazel Lewison whisked her off for a cosy chat.

Unlike their little sister, the Ingleside twins were on rather friendly terms with Hazel, despite a slight age difference. She was one of the not so many girls who did not badmouth Nan behind her back; thus, she did not trespass on Di's sense of loyalty. Nan had, in fact, an even more confidential relatin with her, since Charlottetown women folk held a similar view of Hazel herself. Di sometimes laughed that the girl lived up to her name in full, with her nut-brown hair, hazel eyes and thick skin, developed through years of denigration. Hazel was more infinitely more agreeable than her brother with her brisk, but calm ways. She always gave the best reading recomendations, too. The only flaw in her was-

"I hope everyone is having fun," she whispered hotly into Diana's ear. "I'm always so nervous when I'm hosting a party- as if I were a mother, and about to present my baby to the most picking of mother-in-laws! Have you seen Ken Ford?"

"Why, does he seem most mother-in-lawy to you?" Di teased, but Hazel's only response was a little, playful twinkle in her dark eyes.

Di looked around for him- of course, he was there. Even with a lame ankle, he would not miss a single dance held in Four Winds that summer, even if he would sometimes gib at the music or the company- though he had never been heard complaining about food!

He was presently looking rather grimly at Nan, dancing with Harvey Crawford. Th boy must have been stepping on her toes, because she winced every now and then- but they seemed engrossed in conversation. Di walked up to him and stood behind his back.

"It's not polite to eye people like that, Kenneth," she told him solemnly, making him shudder slightly, much to her amusement. He turned around, looked at her and winked in surprise. Diana rolled her eyes. "It doesn't make it any more polite if you just change the object, you know. I would have thought they taught you the basic points of good conduct in Toronto."

He laughed. Di may not have been as close to him as Nan was; but they had spent quite some time together, reaching a compromise of a kind in occupying Walter's time. And she liked to ruffle his feathers every now and then- she had to hand it to him that, although spoiled by the flocks of girls swooning at him, he took better to her jokes than most people.

"I'm sorry. You just happen to look particularly stunning today."

"Nan's doing," she answered, sipping the sweet of the compliment and deciding not to mind its slightly surprised undertone. "Wait until you see Rilla."

"Rilla?" Ken asked, turning around again. "She old enough to go to dances already? Drats, I'm feeling senile."

"Not quite old enough. Walter coaxed Mother over to let her go," Di reassured. "You're staring again. Mourning what you've lost?"

"Not quite," he answered flatly. "I'm just wondering whether I will ever be able to dance with Nan again, as a friend of old, or whether Jerry Meredith will want to unhinge my jaw every time I even entertain the possibility in thought."

It was Di's turn to laugh.

"Jerry despises physical violence, so I daresay you needn't be afraid. Your perfectly chiseled mandible is in no danger."

He nudged her slightly.

"Now that's wicked, Di, even for you! It's not my fault that Ethel Reese called it that. I was merely helping with the groceries- and not of my own accord, either!"

"Oh, I don't doubt it wouldn't be your intention to help a _country_ girl."

"Give it up, Di," he said with a waggish smile. "I forgot what a tease you are- and I must say I was rather enjoying the bliss of ignorance."

"That's right, we haven't been seeing you very much this summer," Di nodded her head. "But then, whose fault would that be?"

His light-toned response turned into a sigh.

"I didn't want to- exacerbate the situation. Especially since I'm so at fault here."

"Nan doesn't bear grudges," Di told him openly. Her twin wouldn't say so, but Di knew that Nan missed her longish talks with Ken. Little wonder, too- they had been the best of friends long before the Merediths loomed on the Glen horizon.

"_She_ may not bear grudges, but _Jerry_ certainly does. Although I admit he's acting very noble about it. Now Jem, on the other hand, gives me even more watchful looks these days- and not just when I stand next to Faith, but also when I as much as look at Nan."

Di laughed.

"Jem is the oldest son, he is overly protective by necessity," she said. "You are welcome at Ingleside any time you want. And I'm not just speaking for myself."

"Why, thank you. But it's not merely that I feel awkward after the whole- confusion," funny, Di thought, how everyone called it that, even Nan herself. "I simply feel at fault."

"As you should," she conceded.

He smiled bitterly.

"I knew you'd say that. Honestly, though," he turned to her and looked into her eyes," I feel like a complete idiot. I shouldn't have assumed-" then he broke off suddenly.

"You shouldn't have," she conceded again, and her voice was cooler this time.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly. "I don't know why I'm boring you now, talking about your sister only, when you're here, bursting to dance," he stretched out his hand. "Shall we?"

Di tilted her head, as she answered lightly,

"No."

Ken was truly astounded.

"Why not?"

"Firstly, because I assume no girl has ever refused to dance with you before and I'm in the mood for some pioneering work tonight," she counted on her fingers. "And secondly, because Jem says you're not supposed to dance. Lame ankle, remember?"

He moaned.

"For goodness sake, Di, you know how I hate people bringing up that blasted ankle!"

"Indeed, I do," she said with a meaningful smile.

He glared- and then laughed.

"At least join me for a glass of punch, then. For old times' sake?"

So she did- then they parted as Ken bolted, sending her an apologetic glance when Hazel and Ethel Reese charged at him from the two other sides of the dancefloor.

Di found herself lacking assistance in the middle of a dance. She looked around her her friends; Nan was already gone- she had probably left with Jerry soon after Jem took Faith out. Di wondered fleetingly whether the word would get to Susan one of these days- Nan was running the risk of being denied chocolate pudding for the rest of the summer.

Shirley was twirling Betty Mead around and Carl had asked Miss Oliver to dance- what a dear he was, always so thoughtful! Gertrude must have been rather unhappy to be sat on the couch, watching all the young people on a night made of daydreams! Miranda Pryor was with Joe Milgrave, repenting, by the looks of it, for the inexcusable sin of walking to the light with 'Little Meredith'.

Di felt a little too dizzy to dance. She asked Tom Douglas to claim a later dance- although her card was already scribbled all over and it was difficult to pencil him in. She looked around for Walter- and seeing he was nowhere to be found, she left the lighthouse. She felt, with almost palpable certainty, that he was outside.

* * *

Jem and Faith went to the rocks, which naturally excluded the location for Nan and Jerry. Neither of them minded it very much, though- it was too frequented a place.

Jerry led the way into the woods.

"Careful," he said, putting away a branch. "I know it's a little dense here, but I think you'll like where I'm taking you."

So she did- a little glaze bathed in moonlight, coming through the circle of firs which surrounded it. Nobody could see or hear them here, but _they_ could still see the dancing lights of Japanese lanterns and hear Ned Burr's violin.

"A room for two," Jerry said with a smile, spreading his jacket on a big rock so that Nan could sit on it.

He positioned himself on the rock, debating in thought whether he was entitled to see as close as he wished or whether he should keep the appropriate distance. But then, he didn't want Nan thinking he was moving away from her. The weaker part of his nature prevailed, and Nan soon proved to be equally weak, as she nestled against his arm, taking her silver slippers off.

"Uh, they are such a sore!" she complained. "I knew they would pinch beyond reason, I knew by those horribly narrow straps."

"You knew they would pinch- and yet you wore them nevertheless?" Jerry asked.

"Yes, and I would have done it again!" she said defiantly, and they both laughed. "The surprise in your voice is just like a man's, too!" she quoted Miss Korelia unwittingly.

She finally threw the shoes off and heaved a little sigh of relief.

Jerry looked at her and found himself- again!- at a loss for words. She was looking at her bare feet, touching the dewy grass; she had to bend her head to do that and she looked for all the world like a little white bellflower, her hair pinned so high as to expose her long, willowy neck. He drew a breath, still rather incredulous to find her next to him, so close.

As he touched her little white hand, she lay his head on her shoulder. Her soft, dark hair brushed against his neck and he had to suppress a shiver. He wanted to tell her so many things- and he could not find the words! He, the chairman of Redmond Discussion Group, always sparring with somebody about the war, the economy, morality. He, of all people, felt ridiculously tongue tied.

He suddenly heard her humming to the music. When he looked down, he noticed her feet were swaying to the melody.

"I don't know who's doing it was that minister's children cannot dance on nights like this," she sighed with resignation. "But I hope they twisted their ankles before every party in their life."

Jerry laughed at the vehemence in her voice.

"We could go back inside, if you want," he offered, rather in spite of himself.

She lifted her head and looked at him blankly.

"You don't have to sit out on a perfectly enjoyable dance just because of me," he added by way of an explanation.

Nan looked at him demurely; Jerry was not to know, but she felt unable to speak in his presence, too. He was so disarming with his encouraging voice, so clearly at variance with with his slightly disgruntled expression. Nan had noticed, dancing with Fred MacAllisters, the little envious look in Jerry's eyes, as he watched every step and turn of their waltz. And so did Fred, it seemed.

"I'mma have to watch my back tonight," he said to her. "Meredith looks as if he wanted to kill me on the spot."

Nan laughed, promised to keep 'Meredith' pacified, thanked him for the dance and decided to put an end to Jerry's sorrow. A bit haltingly, it must be admitted, as his jealousy was a very explicit proof of his feelings- and he spoke so little of them and in such guarded terms!

But Nan, strangely, did not mind his reticence at all. For she, too, found it rather hard to expose herself- not so much to him, but to all the prying eyes around them. She tried to imagine being talked of, like Jem and Faith were, having bets made on how long they would 'last' or whether they were 'serious 'bout it'- and she recoiled from the very idea. The way things were now was just what they should be; quiet, still a bit shy and very, very sweet. The air around them always seemed vibrant with all the unsaid words.

If she were to answer openly now, she would have told him that she far preferred just sitting here with him to dancing all night long with any other boy in the lighthouse.

"No, thank you," she said.

He looked at her for a long, long moment- then he smiled, stood up and stretched his hand. And when she stood up, he whirled her around to the distant music.

"Why," Nan said, putting her hand on his arm. It felt almost like flying- the one-two-threes of waltz have never been so sweet and exhilarating. "Who would have thought. Gerald Meredith, the master of compromise!"

He laughed.

"Simple, but brilliant, would you agree?"

Nan was about to nod her head, but she froze suddenly, as if struck by a lightning.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, really, I just realized- this is our first dance, Jerry," she smiled at him shyly.

Jerry gave back the smile, but there was the faintest teasing curl to his lips.

"How are you finding it?" he asked with mock formality.

"Good- surprisingly so, given that a minister's son is not supposed to have much experience," she retorted instantly, making Jerry laugh fondly at the fierce quality in her voice. "Who did you get such abilities from, I wonder."

"Why?"

"Why- what?"

"Why does that make you wonder?" he asked, grinning as if he had just discovered her innermost secrets.

She burned with embarassment.

"Jerry! Do not you get any idea into that head of yours that I'm asking out of jealo-"

He spun her around so that she couldn't finish and then drew her very close to himself.

"Faith taught me. And for the record," he whispered into her ear and she knew he was smiling, although she couldn't see fis face, "I didn't like it either to watch you with MacAllister today."

They stopped, Jerry pressed her hand. He lowered his head and Nan drew a sweet, scared little breath as his face neared hers.

And then the music died.

They both jerked up their heads, looked at the lighthouse- then at each other. Nan rushed through the dense shrubberies without a word, propelled by a sudden premonition, and Jerry followed her, covering her arms with his jacket.

At the top of the steps they halted; dark premonitions were Walter's to make, but one didn't need much insight to draw conclusions from a flurry of excited voices and worried faces. Nan suddenly felt very cold; she drew the flaps of Jerry's jacket around herself.

"Meredith!" Ken's voice suddenly rang near them.

"What goes?"

"You haven't heard the news?" Jem leapt out from behind the rocks. "What have you been doing then? The Piper has come for us! England declared war on Germany today."

"They did," it was a statement rather than a question.

"Rotten luck with that ankle," Ken said hotly. "You fellows are so lucky!"

"You've seen enough of the world, Ford, now it's our turn!" Jem patted him on the shoulder. "Come now, Jerry, maybe you can persuade Captain Josiah to hoist the flag. He wouldn't listen to me."

Jerry followed him instantly, answering the age-old call, unhesitatingly. But he looked back after a few steps.

Nan stood on the white sand. His jacket fell from her hands and lay crumbled around her feet. They were still bare, for he forgot to give back the slippers he had taken from their little hideaway glaze.

* * *

Di had to doubt her conviction very soon. Walter was nowhere to be found.

She very highly doubted that she would find him on the rocks, as that was where Jem and Faith trysted. The pier was occupied by Mary Vance and Miller Douglas- fancy that sight! But Walter was not to be found anywhere else, and she began to wonder whether he would go against Father's warnings and row a flat to the sandy shore?

She caught Harry Lewison's arm.

"Have you seen Walter by any chance?"

"Inside!" he shouted in passing, as he speeded to the rock steps.

Di felt slightly offended; why, not even half an hour had passed since he acted as if there was no one else worth even looking at! But she wouldn't waste another thought for him. She began climbing up the steps, despite her silver slippers which bit at her fingers mercilessly- oh, the dreadful Toronto ideas of fashion!

She knew something had happened, even before she made it to the lighthouse. The boys gathered around Jack Elliot from over-harbor- Di was surprised to even find him at the party, as he was probably the most serious medical student in the whole Island- bellowing at one another.

"England- war- Germany" Jack's voice reached Di's ears and she halted near the pier, where Mary and Miller where sitting, disgruntled at the disruption of their tête–à–tête.

Walter, pale and dark-eyed, walked outside and relief shone on his face when he saw her. Before she could run up to him, Jerry and Nan arrived out of nowhere.

Di watched her sister grow as white as a ghost as Jem, Ken and other boys intercepted Jerry for their doings. As they dashed off, Di heard Mary's shrilling voice, suddenly very close.

"What a fuss to make over nothing! What does it matter if there's going to be a war over there in Europe? I'm sure it doesn't concern us."

Walter turned to her and his eyes were ablaze.

"Before this war is over," he said–"every man and woman and child in Canada will feel it–you, Mary, will feel it–feel it to your heart's core. You will weep tears of blood over it. The Piper has come–and he will pipe until every corner of the world has heard his awful and irresistible music. It will be years before the dance of death is over–years, Mary. And in those years millions of hearts will break."

Shiver took over Di's body as she heard his changed voice. But Mary, it seemed, was much more resistant.

"Fancy now!" she scoffed, very much like Miss Cornelia probably would. She turned around on her heel to find Miller, who had already wound himself among the boys.

When Walter began to talk to someone about the Balkans, Di turned around to find Nan. But her twin was occupied; she was listening to something Faith Meredith was whispering into her ear, shaking her head and cleaning up a dark grey jacket that belonged to Jerry, apparently.

Di plopped on a nearby rock. A war! It was the twentieth century, nobody talked of wars anymore! It couldn't be possible- could it? Walter spoke with such certainty, in a voice which seemed to belong to someone else; someone who could see the future.

"The British navy would have to be licked for one," Harvey Crawford was saying, as he shrugged his shoulders and Di felt thankful, thankful to the core of her being for his sturdy, imperturbable bearing. "And for another, Miller here, now, and I,_we'd _raise a dust, wouldn't we, Miller? No Germans need apply for this old country, eh?"

The guests slowly dispersed, but she remained where she was, transfixed. Jem and Jerry came back and took Nan and Faith inside; Mary dragged Miller away to the shore. Only Walter stood still, looking out to the peaceful wavelets of the Four Winds- as if he was watching the beginning of another deluge. Di, who was about to walk over to him, noticed a little shadow, passed over by everyone as they want back inside to return to the festivities.

Una walked out and put her hand on Walter's shoulder.

"Walter- is that true?" she said. Her voice was quiet, but Di thought it was not fear at what she heard from Walter, but rather bashfulness at her daring attempt to speak to him. Neither of them seemed to notice her, although she was sitting so close and in such an exposed spot.

"The war? Of course."

"No, I mean- what you said. Will it take years? Will we really feel it, like you said?"

Walter opened his mouth to tell her- to tell her everything he knew, what he once saw in Rainbow Valley and what now came back to hit him like a wave. But then he looked at her frail, shaking hands- and he couldn't bring himself to do it. He laughed a little bitter laugh, not knowing that it frightened Una even more.

"Not necessarily," he forced himself to say. "We seem to have so many valiant protectors."

But when Una shivered even more upon hearing this new tone to his voice, his face grew mellower.

"Fear not, Una" he told her, took one of her hands and pressed it slightly. "A land which bears daughters like you, will surely bear sons to protect them, too."

At that lifted her little white hand and- and kissed it! Then he looked into Una's wistful, sorrowful eyes and turned around on his heel. He walked away without another word, as if he was fleeting an unpardonable disgrace.

Di couldn't move. The little tense moment of connection between Walter's and Una's eyes was so palpable that even she felt it, sitting further away. It froze her, although she knew, she _knew_ that she should have slipped away. But the sheer surprise of it all was too much for her to bear.

It wasn't about Walter kissing anybody, let alone his kissing somebody as sweet as Una. It was the stealthy, secretive air of this almost-kiss that touched her. Had it been Ken, or Jem she wouldn't have been surprised; for crying out loud, Jem kissed Mary Vance once! How Nan told him off for that! She wondered, whether Walter would tell her about it- and, with a sharp pang, considered the possibility of the first secret that Walter would keep from her. After all, there was nothing to talk about- nothing to be ashamed of- nothing to require any commitment.

But ust about enough to give Una the tiniest spark of hope. Di felt anger taking over her like a flame. How could he be so heedless? He, of all people, who knew how easy it was to fool oneself.

Una turned around, noticed Di and her cheeks burned. Then she put her hand to her forehead.

"Do you think we could go back?" she asked in a weak little voice. "My head is aching."

"So is mine," Di answered sympathetically. There was no need to pretend she had not seen anything; Una's face betrayed her utterly. "Let's call Jem."

They found the rest quickly, as they all gathered around Jack Elliot and his newspaper. As they were piling into the boat, Walter asked suddenly,

"Where is Rilla?"

"The last time I saw her, she was with Kenneth," Nan said, sitting on the bench beside him. Then she put her hand on his shoulder and a secret understanding, which can happen between any two souls who share a friend, however different they would be, passed between them. "She'll be alright, he'll see to it. Let's not spoil this night for her any more than it already has been spoiled."

Jem rowed as if his arms grew stronger from the sheer excitement of the news. He and Jerry talked incessantly in loud voices, but Di couldn't hear them. She had been walking with her head up in rosy, rainbowy, golden clouds- and suddenly she found herself in the eye of the storm. Nan clutched at her arm wordlessly. She, too, had heard Walter's portent.

But here, on this sinuous, quiet road, their well-known way home, the high-strung atmosphere subsided. Di closed her eyes and let the distant, steady roar of the soothe her mind. Nothing could reach them here, on their very own Island. Boys will be boys, she told herself, they will likely be making a lot of fuss for the next few days and then go back to fishing, rowing and what not.

This time they walked in different configuration. Jem and Jerry were surrounded by the rest of the boys; Nan wouldn't let go of Di and Faith walked beside her. Una and Walter were both alone and silent.

"Look!" Jerry exclaimed suddenly, pointing at something in the distance.

Captain Josiah did not yield to Jerry's persuasive powers and the flag on the Four Winds Light was not to be run up until the morrow. But Norman Douglas did not care about such trivialities as proper caper. Union Jack streamed on the fierce wind above the Douglases' abode.

It brought forth the least expected reaction from the young people marching to Glen St. Mary. All boys tore off their hats and waved them, cheering loudly until the dogs answered with howling. The Piper has summoned them with the insistent tones of his strange, irresistible music- and they were supposed to follow him round and round the world, however surely Diana might have doubted it.

Why- has Faith Meredith lost her mind, tearing a ribbon off her head and waving it like the boys did with their caps?

"Oh, if I were only a man, to go too!" she cried with flashing eyes.

Di looked at her disbelievingly- and then turned to Nan. But her twin seemed to have caught fire on the flame of the boys' excitement.

"I shouldn't feel this way, I really shouldn't," she turned to Di, whispering feverishly into her ear. "But, Di, I am so proud now! I'm proud that we will stand by England- that we will answer the call-" her eyes glistened as if she was about to cry. But she laughed deliriously instead and wrapped her arm around Di's waist.

But Diana didn't share her agitation. She was swept over by an all-consuming surge of emotion. It was an lmost unbearable, confusing tide of contradictory feelings. Mostly, though, she felt relief. Relief, for Walter had had typhoid- and that meant precisely that he wouldn't be able to go, even if Jem or Jerry did.

"But they wouldn't," Di thought stubbornly. Father and Rev. Meredith wouldn't let that happen.

The poor lame boy didn't keep up with the other children in the Pied Piper story, a thought suddenly struck her. It was irrational, and absurd, and impossible- and Di believed it. Walter wouldn't go, he wouldn't leave her alone, no matter how much he wanted to-

But then- did he want it, really? She looked around and found him standing a few steps away, a shadow over his face- his cap laying firm on his dark, glossy hair.


	4. Growing Pains

_alright, fellows, you've had enough rest from my horrible writing, so here goes another installment. _

_the underlined part comes from LMM's 'Rilla of Ingleside' and it should get you to the right place on the timeline, I hope. forgive me if it's even worse than usual- it's been a while. _

* * *

Jem turned to the phone again. "I must ring the manse. Jerry will want to go, too."

At this Nan had cried out "Oh!" as if a knife had been thrust into her, and rushed from the room. Di followed her, and before the door slammed behind her, she heard the clamor that could only have been done by chairs knocked down in their stride.

Her twin was surprisingly quick and before Di ran out of the house, she had already disappeared. But she knew where to look.

Nan was sitting on one of the mossy stones in their old playhouse in the Valley, looking out to the manse roof, visible over the short birches. Di, wisely, did not speak. She simply sat down next to her sister and put one arm around her.

Nan wasn't crying- not exactly. She didn't sob, her arms weren't shaking. She was absolutely motionless as tears streamed down her pale cheeks, as if her will had no part in it. Di wiped them off gently.

When Nan finally spoke a while later, in a changed, fitful voice, Di winced.

"Do you know what my first thought was?" when Diana looked at her helplessly, she explained hotly, "When Jack told us- at the dance? It wasn't really a thought, rather a vision that just appeared before my eyes. I've always been so _imaginative_, after all."

Di had never heard such vehement self- hatred from Nan. What words could help someone so guilt-ridden? For the first time in the life they shared as only twins can and do, she doubted whether she would cope with being Nan's confidante.

"I saw- I swear, the first thing I saw was myself saying goodbye to a soldier that went to war. And I thought, goodness! I thought that it would be so _exceptional_ and _romantic_. How many girls before us could say that they took part in such grand experiences, after all?"

Di did not interrupt her. She focused on opening Nan's clenched fists- her nails pierced the insides of her hands so fiercely that little red droplets had begun to smear her fingers.

"It was all very grand, too. I was in my prettiest dress- you know, the blue silk one- and the soldier was dark and handsome and melancholic. I even took care of a proper rank for him, for he was no less than a colonel," Nan was spitting the words out now. "How pathetic must I be, if-"

"There, Nan, enough," Di strengthened her embrace. "It was a spur of the moment, nothing more, and you were just overwrought. We all were."

"I loathe myself."

"Then stop."

Nan turned away again.

"That's not all. I can't even look at you," then she suddenly faced Di again, afoul of her words. "Today, I was sitting at that table, wishing- _praying_\- that it had been Jem who'd had typhoid."

Di stiffened suddenly, just as Nan shuddered with the confession.

"Then it would be _Walter_ who went. Who am I, if I wish that one of my brothers went to war just because I happen to love the other one more? What kind of a sister am I to him- and to _you_?"

Di felt a certain, new kind of coldness catching at her heart. Her arm, woven thus far across her sister's back, loosened a little. She was about to recoil, in painful disbelief, but-

But Nan's eyes were dark with remorse and mortification. Diana heard a voice which sounded like hers, at least on the surface, saying,

"One overwhelmed by the news. These are all impulses, Nan, nothing more."

"But if that's what I truly think-"

"Then we're all guilty of thinking that way. My first thought this morning, for instance, was finding goose grease for my feet!"

Nan gave a strained little laugh which broke almost as soon as it rang.

"Even this feels wrong," she said, covering her mouth. It was Di's time to shiver; Nan had a lovely, silvery, infectious laugh- and this forced, bitter sound was like a bell toll before a wake.

But she seemed to have broken out of her fit at least.

"But so is crying. Some example for baby Rilla!" she wiped the tears away and stood up. "I must find Jem."

They walked homeward, holding hands as if they were little again. As Ingleside heaved into sight, Nan suddenly whispered,

"Thank you."

Di gave back the embrace- and mustered the courage to ask,

"And- what about Jerry?"

Nan's face remained starchy and deadpan, but her eyes darkened again.

"What about him?"

"Do you suppose he'll go?"

Nan smiled bitterly.

"I don't suppose- I _know_," she smirked at her own words. "That sounded decidedly like Susan, don't you think?"

But Di didn't fall for the distraction.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because he told me so."

Di suddenly felt very tired of the erratic way their conversation had assumed. She had never known it to be like that- and she didn't want it to stay so.

"Maybe you could- "

"I couldn't," Nan interrupted curtly. "And I wouldn't, either. You can call me many things, but not a hypocrite."

"What now!" Di exclaimed, tripping upon the suggestion and a protruding stone on the little path which lead to the side gate of Ingleside's garden. "Do you mean to tell me-"

"That I'd go, if I could? Yes. And so would Faith, so would Una, so would you."

Suddenly, Walter's face appeared before her- his stormy eyes, pursed lips and that cap, that cap which wasn't tossed into the air together with all the others- and she flashed, shaking her head so stubbornly that her curls bounced back and forth against her cheeks.

"Don't speak for me, Nan. I'm not in the least given to this- what was it you and Faith spoke of yesterday? Ah, the white flame of sacrifice. For some _inexplicable_ reason, I don't see why any one of us should give away their liv-"

"I didn't say that was why we would all go," Nan broke in, tiredly. "I meant- we would have gone with them, because it would have been easier than giving them away."

Di merely looked at her. Such conversations shouldn't have befallen them. Yesterday, just yesterday, they had all been entangled in a whirlwind of fun and merriment which only the summers on the Island knew. They had such plans- _she_ had such plans for the rest of their vacation! And now everybody seemed to be almost absent, with their minds given to things which happened in a place so removed that they could have just as well not happened at all.

"You would be more convinced if you were in my situation- or Faith's," Nan said, misreading her silence for defiance. Di was silent still- she needed a moment to get over the boundary which her sister drew. "But I hope you won't."

She smiled at her- it was a horrid thing to watch a smile so strained and starchy on Nan's face- but before Di could respond, the Ingleside door was flung open and Nan rushed to the outcomer.

"Jem!" she breathed as she stormed onto the verandah. "I'm sorry- I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to act up, I just-"

Jem grabbed her shoulders and swayed her a little.

"Never you mind, Kitten. It would be enough to try the courage of someone more resilient, I know."

They looked at each other with almost palpable tension.

"And perhaps- it's me who should be apologizing," Jem said finally and, although Di didn't make sense of his words, Nan seemed to have understood at once.

"No!" she pronounced, shaking her head decisively. "You can't be thinking I'm blaming you for Jer-" her voice died, as if she couldn't say the name.

"Well, you did burst out of the house with the single most horrid cry I have ever heard!"

"But I don't- I don't! I'm proud of you- so proud that I dread to think what Ethel Reese will be saying about my airs now."

Jem laughed, as he ruffled her fringe, his laugh blissfully unchanged. Nan calmed visibly and propped her forehead on his shoulder, as he put his arms around her. Di felt something catch at her throat, as she wondered how many moments of such blissful relief were left to Nan.

Jem, with his sunny, smiling face! What would become of Ingleside without him? Who would be bringing Mother mayflowers and taking pictures of Susan washing the dishes, much to her indignation (_I say, it is not proper, Mrs. Dr. Dear_)? Who would fend off Nan's many suitors with ominous glares and torment Little Rilla by doing the same to Ken Ford? Who would be teasing Shirley about cat getting his tongue unnerving her now, asking,

"You alright, Carrots?"

Di groaned and Nan laughed, giving their brother a playful nudge.

"You're incorrigible, both of you- and thank God for that!" some of the usual vigor rang in her voice again and Di felt relieved at the familiarity of the sound. "How's that for a proper heartening! I shall go and beat my brains to make cookies that can stand long transportation. Piece of luck you like gingerbread."

"I'm going to the manse now," Jem said and hesitated before going on probingly, "Jerry asked that you come."

Nan looked at him blankly- then her eyes fled.

"I'm not quite that heartened," she said and reddened a little, as if she was owning up to some childish misdoing.

Jem merely nodded.

"Alright. I'll tell him you're still tired after last night. So long, girls!"

And, in a flash, he was gone. Di couldn't dispel the obtrusive, ominous thoughts, as she watched him cross the field on his beeline to the manse. He would come back today- but would he come back from where he meant to go?

"Princess," Dad suddenly appeared on the verandah. "Avonlea on the phone to you."

"Must be Jack," Nan said as she dashed inside.

"Say 'hi' for me!" Di called after her.

Gilbert's eyes followed his daughter concernedly and darkened- just as her own ones. Di stepped inside and, wordlessly, buried her face in his stiffly starched shirt collar. She breathed in the well-known smell of coffee, iodine and lemon grass soap and heaved a little sigh of relief. Ingleside, luckily, had a way of not changing certain things, no matter how many wars were waged by no matter how many Kaisers.

Father stroked her fiery curls.

"It's very comforting," he said and she raised her eyes to him, puzzled. "My son has just declared that he will go to war, the whole world is about to be torn apart- and your hair is as messy as any other day."

Di chuckled, as she marveled at the similar course they thoughts took now- and always.

"At your service," she curtseyed.

"So you are today- how is Nan?"

"Mostly confused," she knew Dads did not want to intrude, but she also knew Nan's confessions were not to be shared, even with the most forgiving of all fathers on the Island. "I haven't- cracked her, not exactly. She told me something or other- and we spoke to Jem on his way out- but she didn't really say much."

"Oh, poor boy," Dad shook his head.

"Who?"

"Now, Di-o-mine, you're trying to trick your own old Pops and pretend not to understand what he means? Is that how I raised you?"

Di peeked at him gingerly.

"You mean Jerry, then."

"Who else? I suppose she cut you short as soon as you tried to ask."

"In a way," Di touched her temples. For some reason, their conversation, so recent, was very hard to remember and decipher. "She just talked more generally about going off to fight."

"Of course she did. It's safe to say that she will be trying to avoid the subject with you- and, worse still, with Jerry, too. Shirley women. That's a classic quibble with you lot."

Di pricked up her ears.

"Hmm?" she murmured invitingly. "What has brought you to such bitter conclusions?"

"Pratice, love, practice," he kissed her forehead. "I have to be out on the rounds- we'll talk some more when I come back. Be home, will you?"

Dad and Jem were gone- Mother and Walt were nowhere to be found- Rilla and Miss Oliver were in the garden by the sound of it- and Susan was sitting at the table again, dishcloth in hands. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about the old duck- only Shirley sat with her, patting her strong, sun-kissed hand silently. Di swiftly crossed the dining room with a fleeting touch of remorse that was soon glossed over with utter conviction that she would not bear it to look at Susan in such a state- Susan was _supposed_ to be a rock on which Ingleside was built.

She entered the living room as Nan was putting down the phone.

"Well, did you?"

"Did I- what?"

"Say 'hi' for me," Di said with a touch of slight irritation.

"Ah, yes! I would have forgotten, honestly, but Jack told me to give you his greetings in the first place."

Di smiled forgivingly.

"He really does like you," Nan said- in a tone which stung Diana a little.

"Why does that surprise you so much?"

"That wasn't surprise," Nan shook her head. "I'm just wondering whether you realize-"

The door creaked behind her back and she turned around midword.

"Nan-girl," Walter stepped in, a bit shyly entering the twin-claimed private space. "How are you feeling?"

Nan scowled a little.

"I was better before you called me that. Now I feel I have a reason to pity myself."

Walter laughed, but a little, sorrowful air never left him. Nan noticed the intent gaze he fastened on Diana's face.

"Oh, alright. I can take a hint," she marched for the door. "Susan, dear, don't look so distraught!" her imploring voice trailed off slowly, as she went into the dining room. Di caught something more about well-holding cookies.

Then she turned to look at Walter, puzzled. He has never come to her so haltingly before.

"What is it?" she asked in the assured, unfaltering tone she thought would be relieving for him. "I can see it's not about Jem going- not exactly."

He shook his head.

"No, it's not. It's about me- as always. Even I am surprized at being that selfish."

Di threw her hands up in the air.

"What is it today with you lot! First Nan tries to demean herself, and now you've come to engage in self-criticism in my company?"

Walter's lips curled into a wry little smile- but that smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Don't," Di said in a weak little voice. Then, imploringly, as he did not answer, "Walter, don't let any of this come between us!"

"I don't want that," he answered, just as quietly. But as he would say no more, Di's heart grew strangely hollow- and so did her voice.

"I saw you yesterday."

Walter finally looked into her eyes- and, strangely, relief shone over his face.

"And yet you are here, speaking to me," he said with slight disbelief.

"Why wouldn't I?" Di answered flatly- and a bit cooly. "It's you who does not trust me enough to talk."

"And it's you who's letting it all come between us now," he rejoined gently. He took her hands in his and pressed them. "It's not a question of trust. You see, I didn't know you saw me- but you did and so you must know what that meant?" she nodded her head. "I thought I would never be able to tell you or- or you'd despise me."

"Walter!"

"You should despise me, dearest."

"Wal-_ter_!"

"Why, am I not a coward? Jem and Jerry are going, unhesitatingly answering the call to fight for everything that we now have, for Canada, for _you_ \- and I'm afraid to do the same."

"You are _not_ a coward- and what Jem and Jerry are doing is looking forward to their idea of adventure- at least Jem is," she added justly. Jerry was too serious to think of it that way, possibly. "And from my flat, earth-bound vantage point it is only fair to be afraid. War is death, Walter, and death is frightening."

"But Di, it's not death I fear- I just- I can't stand the thought of how it will all look- the agony, the pain, the _ugliness_ of taking away somebody's life! I couldn't stand there and watch the light go out of them and know that it was because of me- all because of me! I don't want to take part in this dance of death even though I know that it would be worth it!"

"Walter, have you not been listening to Nan's clamoring at all? This war doesn't even have to happen yet- or if it will, it may last a mere few months!"

"How does any of this matter?" he flashed impatiently, but she paid him back in kind.

"Of course it matters! If you are really so intent on losing your life it might as well be over something worth it! This- this is not!"

He breathed heavily.

"No, it is not," she said quickly, before they could tumble into more a grevious quarrel. "Just think, Walter- if you all go off to fight and this whole mess blows over after the first few months, the world will go back on its trail- but if you go and fall, it will go on without you in it and I- I-" her resolute tirade dissolved into vehement sobbing which shook her whole body. She had been the good, consoling sister for this one morning- and it had been long and exhausting. She, too, needed comfort, after all. "And it wouldn't just be you who would be dead. It would be Mother and Dad- and _me_! And Jem _is_ going!" she cried suddenly.

"I'm sorry," Walter whispered into her fiery, unruly curls. "I'm sorry! I shouldn't have- I'm _so_ sorry."

And he kept apologizing and swaying her in his arms as he thanked heavens for a sister like her, as perhaps Little Rilla could have offered him consolation, too- but she would have filtered the morality of it all through the ardent devotion which she had for him and which would not please him in this one single case. But Di told him the truth- the truth of her mind and the truth of her heart-and she did not turn away from him.

"Thank you," he whispered in the end and she lifted her sweet, girlish face to him and smiled through the last of her tears.

And Di forgot, enclosed in the air of renewed affection, that she had not asked Nan why Jack had called.


	5. Smile And Bear It And Darn On

_first and foremost- thank you for all your lovely reviews. they're always a great joy- and a great source of inspiration._

_the chapter was fun, but also difficult to write. I ended up getting rid of a whole big Jem passage, hence the relative shorteness. I'm not sure how you feel about Di having a diary- it does seem to suit Rilla more- but I had no one in mind to whom she could be writing a letter and I really wanted to try first-person narration- I enjoyed it to bits! don't know about the result, though..._

_dear Guest- it feels really weird to refer to someone like that-thank you in particular, as I could not PM you. I'm always really glad to hear what people dislike about the story, so that I can do better. I tried to bridge the gap between Di and Jem in this, and show some more interaction with other siblings, too. but I'm sorry to hear you dislike Susan! poor old duck! Di's closeness to Walter and Rilla's interjections is very important in this story for me, so I was really glad to hear you liked the comparison. :-)  
_

_the underlined parts come from LMM's 'Rilla of Ingleside.'_

* * *

When Jem came back from Charlottetown, Mother and Dad were away and they were all poring over Maclean's - the newest Ingleside subscription- at the dinner table, much to Susan's displeasure.

Little Rilla, looking at the photograph of the Russian imperial family, had sighed instinctly,

"Just look at their dresses!" but even before the words were out and Di could send Nan an eloquent look, the kidlet had pressed her fingertips to her mouth. "I- I didn't mean that, I'm sorry."

As Walter and Nan were beginning to smile forgivingly, the door creaked behind their backs and pattern leather boots thudded dully against the unwilling Ingleside floor. The house, humming previously with excitement of the news- Austria Hungary had declared war on Russia just two days ago and Rennekampf was reportedly marching for East Prussia- fell very quiet.

Jem certainly looked magnificent in his uniform. He joined his heels, drew himself up and raised two fingers to his cap as if he had been born to do it all through his life, in spite of his delicate hands of a surgeon and boyish dreams of the sea-born child he had once been.

For a moment, Susan looked as though she was going to cry, but in the end she just sulked.

"You look _almost_ like a man in that, Jem."

He laughed at that- and this gave Nan the strength to smile bravely. Oh, how Di hated that starchy, empty shadow of her old smile! She had worn it all the time Jem and Jerry were gone- so did Mother- and Di wanted to scream whenever she saw it.

"Yes, _almost_\- and just that!" Nan teased. "Don't you get too big for your boots or else they'll dismiss you before anything begins for good. And you've crampled your collar, too, you ninny!" she said rebukingly as her hands applied the necessary adjustments with gentleness that was unusual even to her.

Jem pinched her arm.

"Have some respect for the cloth, woman."

"Nah, don't listen to her," Shirley said in his usual, good-natured tone. "It suits you."

"It was always my color," Jem touched his cheek in a show of mock primping, Little Rilla laughed- and somehow they glossed over their initial moment of grim epiphany.

Jem sat down next to Walter, breathing in the buttery smell enshrouding the house. Di glanced at them over the edge of her tea cup; one fair, gladsome and sunny and the other dark and distant. The same could have applied to them on any other day- but just now Walter scowled at his brother's closeness.

Walter _never_ scowled.

"Susan, you are an angel," Jem said decisively between a gobble of the roast and a gulp of lemonade.

When Susan expressed her worries over the way he and Jerry had been 'looked after' in Charlottetown, he laughed again, dissmissively.

"No, it was all good, Susan, promise! There was heaps of us- Jack Elliot and Harry Lewison. Hazel came along, too, and looked as if she would join up herself, all pale and proud. All three Wests were there, turns out the twins turned eighteen just last week- and Andy Parker besides."

"But he's only just gotten engaged!" Gertrude Oliver paled suddenly. "Poor Millicent! Has it really come to that?"

The girls all understood in an instant what had scared her so- Rilla pressed her hand comfortingly- but Jem merely looked at her in slightly indifferent bewilderment.

"Come to what, Miss Oliver?"

"Do they take engaged or married men, too?" Di helped impatiently.

"They take all that want to go," Jem shrugged with the insensitivity which can only be forgiven in one preoccupied with a great feat he had been tasked with.

Still, Miss Oliver froze. Di couldn't help a reproachful look and Walter, ever the peace maker, was still very quiet. It was Shirley who broke the silence.

"You're in the infantry, both of you?" the question was asked in a voice which sounded husky from disuse, but was flurried with vivid interest.

"All of us for now. CEF, we'll likely be called- but I have no idea how to decipher that. Jerry will know- and he's eavesdropped on something about the air force just for you," he smiled knowingly. "There will be no training for the flying services as yet and whoever wants to become a pilot has to cover the expenses from his own pocket. Rotten luck, kiddo, eh?"

Shirley snarled something, which might have been very verbal had it not been for a hunk of gingerbread stuffed in his mouth. Nan reached over and rubbed his forehead in a gesture which was half meant to comfort his visible soreness and half to wipe the whipped cream smeared right over his eyebrows.

Di had made a discovery.

"You talk an awful lot these days, Shirl," she said, raising one eyebrow, as she was wont to. "Not that I mind," she added quickly, seeing how abashed her remark- or her expression- had made him. "Quite the opposite. It's just-unexpected coming from you."

"Well," Shirley shrugged, "I suppose we will all be seeing many unexpected things these days."

Nan, sitting opposite to him, her chin cupped in her hands, joined in thoughtfully,

"Nothing can ever be quite the same for any of us again."

Rilla perked her head up at the other end of the table and looked at her; her eyes were ablaze with sudden, vehement anger. Di found herself oddly sympathetic.

_I never would have thought I would be ganging up with Rilla against Nan one of these days- but so I am," _Di wrote in her diary some time later. _I'd expect poor Rilla to have a rather hard time adjusting to things as they are now. It must have come as a greater surprize to her, seeing as she only had any use of the newspaper if she could cut it into curlers so far. But she is rather valiant in waiting for the news as the rest of us- even though she looks as if she was stifling a yawn half the time.  
_

_Still, the one I can't bear to look at is Nan- and I'm spending my whole days with her as we have our work cut out for us. Mrs. Elliot got about organizing a Red Cross the moment she turned from waving to Jem and Jerry at the station._

_And so Mother and Nan are always sewing away at something- 'doing their bit' as they would have it- and always, always smiling. I can't stand it, especially in Nan- it is meant as a brave-smiling-sister stunt for Jem, but instead it comes across as if she was trying to hide everything from me. Even though I know she isn't, I'd still sonner take Rilla's confusion over Nan's forced, diffident gladness._

_**I** do not sew. I was tasked with something entirely different: I make cigarettes. The initative came from Mr. Douglas- or, Uncle Douglas, as Nan is calling him these days upon his insistence. Una Meredith, funnily, has not brought herself yet to use that denomination. She really is a dear and she looks a treat when she bends over backwards trying not to address him at all while still trying to offer him some of her famous tea. She obviously does like him even if he frightens her a little. But then all Glen mothers have utilized Mr. Douglas as a punishing threat at one time or another, so I guess he frightens us all- at least a little. And those Goliath looks of him are not very helpful, either._

_Nan, however, seems unruffled by it all and calmly asks him for scissors and clippers every now and again. The ease with which she has adjusted to it, has set my mind working, I must admit. I do wonder whether she and Jerry got engaged- but I do not suppose so. Truth be told, Dad was only half-right about her and the Shirley streak. She does not talk to me about Jerry at all, but she has not been avoiding him. In fact, they jangle until very late hours on our veranda- and they only quarrel when they discuss the serious matters of the world. As far as the small things are concerned, they are surpizingly compatible. But they are more secretive about it now and they dry up as soon as one of the windows opens and before Jem- or me- can give them the earful they deserve for denying the ordinary mortals they share of sleep at one o' clock. _

_I want to- I **have to** believe Nan would have told me if she was really engaged. It seems to me that Ingleside would just fall apart if my very own twin didn't share such a thing with me. But there is also some more substantial evidence. To the best of my knowledge, Nan didn't get any new jewelry- while I noticed Mother's engagement pearl circlet gone when I was looking for my brooch in her drawers and Faith has taken to wear a little golden chain- one on which an engagement ring could be snugly hidden under her clothes. Sharp, I must say, especially since Mary Vance calls at Ingleside almost every day now._

_The cigarettes are a sore- a boring, tedious work which leaves my hands with the smell of tobacco that even Pears' won't take out, but I'd rather have that than basting sheets. I gave Mother an anxious look or two when Mr. Douglas, all proud of managing to scandalize Mrs. Elliot, asked me to do it. Not that I myself am outraged by them in the least- Walter and I tried some from Ken, who has tumbled back into the habit. I was just wondering what she would have to say about such desecration of the holy Ingleside land. But Mother only smiled.  
_

_"That's alright, darling, if only it suits you," she said. At which Mr douglas boomed,_

_"It will suit them poor boys in the trenches!" _

_Mother said something about not pressurizing any of us- but she can talk! I can already hear what Mary Vance would be talking about me behind my back if I didn't help, even if the warm socks **she** makes are the ugliest things I've ever seen- well, save Faith's old colorful stockings. _

_I know of course that it is selfish of me to think of all our unfulfilled plans, but I can't help but mourn all the dances and games we've called off. I've studied so hard this past year- and I've been looking forward to the holidays so! And the trip to Toronto which Ken has begun to mention to Walter and me! He has been here today- it was horrid. He spoke to Walter, naturally, with all the subtlety you could expect from a city boy about the 'rotten luck' they're having. I could have smacked his thoughtless, insensible face just then. In the end, he drove Walter away and began asking about Rilla, who was away, organizing the Junior Red Cross, and who is probably going to kick herself when she finds out she's missed him.  
_

_"Did she get home safely?" _

_"Yes- but not thanks to you," I replied, at which his ears went pink. _

_"So I've heard- Mary Vance, was it?" he groaned when I confirmed. "She'll never forgive me."_

_"Not very likely, no," I said. _

_All good that came from his visit was that he showed me an easier way to roll the tissue paper so that it holds the tobacco tighter. And he finally spoke to Nan and even managed to make her laugh for real- or almost for real. And he stayed for the evening with us all.  
_

_For we've taken to spend our evening together- all four Merediths and Nan and Jem and me. In the same self-explanatory way they used to leave me behind earlier, they now include me in all their meetings- and although it rankled a little at first, I'm relishing every such moment in our busy days. Susan bakes for a whole regiment- although I **am** getting tired of gingerbread- and Shirley joins us more often now. Somehow, thankfully, we fend off the specter of that horrid war for at least the few hours between sunset and the night dew, which is when I take off to the Valley. Walter and I have been going on our moonlit rambles for years now- and I'm too used to it to give it up, even if I walk alone._

_Walter has been seeking solitude- and I've allowed him his share of it. I **won't** be throwing myself at him, the way Rilla does. Although, if I am to be honest, it did hurt me to stumble upon them in the Valley. But then, by the looks of it, it is mostly Walter comforting her, not the other way around. I tell myself that Walter's needs are more important than my wish to comfort him just now- come to think about it, it would be selfish to insist upon spending more time together. Rilla does not see it, even though she obviously only wishes well. But Walter will see it, I know- and it helps. But I still miss him- so much that it almost hurts.  
_

__Perhaps that was why I snapped at Jem a little and sent him to Rilla when he asked me 'what's with Walt.' In an instant I felt horribly, even before he complained that he had heard more growling from Mr. Hyde than talking from Walter over the past week- his last week at home, before he and Jerry head for Quebec. My poor, splendid big brother! He isn't used to being out of his depth. __

_Maybe if we were in Kingsport now it would all be different. Life there can't revolve around war news, war predictions, war stories and broadly understood war **things** the way it does here. Glen is really rather small, I see it more clearly every day, as the hungry, haunted look which Walter's eyes harbor grows and makes them look **almost** ugly. I see it, too, in Nan's silent longing- in Faith's impatience to leave- in Jerry's troubled eyebrows. And, most of all, I see it in Mother, who has never looked more forlorn- who has never held onto her 'Little Jem' quite so fervidly.  
_

_But I suppose we'll have to take another three or four months. I don't **care** what that Lord Kitchener says- he is entitled to his own wrong opinions like everyone else, I suppose. For once, Susan and I are of one accord._

_And so, as Dad chanted yesterday: smile and bear it- and darn on, girls, darn on!_

She closed the diary with a snap, when Nan tapped on her window sill, balancing on the veranda rail outside.

"Come out!" she demanded laughingly. Thanks be, Di thought, for Ken Ford and his absurd sense of humor. "We're going to the shore. Oh, and could you hand me your straw hat? Rilla stole mine. Make it quick, before I fall."

"Take all the time you want, Carrots, I have the perfect view!"

Nan must have swung her leg, for Di heard a dull thump, as if a little girlish pump reached a boy's stomach. Jem moaned- then Nan gave a little cry- and Di rushed to lean out of her window.

She smiled, seeing them all at the veranda, heads upraised to look at her. Nan was cupped, rather gracelessly, in Jerry's arms.

"You pushed me!" she fumed at Jem, who was curled up in a satisfied chuckle.

They came back decidedly too late and tumbled into their rooms. When Diana's head was already cosily buried in her pillows, someone tapped on the door.

"Ooof? I swear, Jem, if you came to pour some sand behind my collar again, I'll-"

"I came to see if you came back safely," Walter's voice said, amusedly.

She sat up straight in her bed.

"Walter- I thought-"

"Obviously," he smiled, reaching for a chair. "Tell me how it was- I would not have gone, I couldn't have- but I like to think you still have the strength to be happy, in spite of it all."


	6. Promise, Anyhow

_I'm sorry another deviation from the usual perspective comes from the same characters and in similar surroundings to top that, but I wanted a sort of a final farewell- Di wouldn't do for that, obviously, and I just don't do Jem and Faith. I'm sorry for overdoing the dramatics. that's what these two do to me. _

* * *

He did find her in the Valley after all, when he came back there for the second time, hoping that the first had just been too early. He dropped on the grass next to herdoing what he always would; pulled his trousers up so as not to get them wet with the dew, crossed his ankles, propped his elbows on his knees.

She drew her knees to her chest. He had gone through that sequence so many times before and she used to pull or push him to the ground more than once, just out of contrariness to his pedantry. But it wouldn't do now.

"I wasn't sure where I'd find you."

"I wasn't sure you were going to look."

He looked hurt.

"Nan," that with a reproachful note in his voice, which sparked everything that she had been harboring in her heart over the past two weeks. Finally, she did not need to smile- she wasn't going to cry, she _wasn't_!- but it felt good to show him a face that was honest in its pain and its anger, even if it would hurt him. She was afraid of how much pleasure her ability to do that to him- to cause him pain- was giving her, but he had started this, after all.

She shoved her hand into her pocket, extracted something very small and tossed it to him. He turned around a little heart-shaped pendant with his name on it.

"Nan," he echoed, and the reproach was all gone; it was just a tired, rueful voice. The golden chain was not broken this time, so she didn't just tear it off her neck in a fit. No; she had thought long and hard about that one. "Why-"

"I was not expecting much, Jerry." she interrupted him coldly, before he could ask that absurd question. "I wasn't waiting for an engagement ring, honestly. I wasn't even looking for any sort of committment from _you," _the pointed stress on that last pronoun made him leap to his feet, but Nan went on, hotly, so as not to let him interrupt. "But I did expect you'd at least want to take something to remind you. That you'd want to remember me. I can't expect you to honor any promises _there_, but I would have liked to know that what we've been doing _here _means something. Call me sentimental, but-"

He squatted so that he would look right into her darkened eyes and she fell quiet, despite the ample supplies of biting irony she still had in store.

"Nan, for goodness' sake," he pleaded and stopped- she knew how much it would cost him to expose himself, for it had cost her the same just a while ago. "If it wasn't for this damned war- yes, I said _damned_\- I- I could just drag you up to the manse and have Father marry us _now_."

"Oh," she whispered with a little longing note to her voice and her head hung low, like a wilting flower bell's. He brought her face up to look at him again, by a gentle stroke on the chin.

"But I can't," and as she drew a little desperate breath, he went on. "It _is_ war."

"I know," then, disbelieving what she was about to say and wondering vaguely what Susan might have had to say about saying it to 'a gentleman friend', "I wouldn't mind."

He smiled.

"So you'd take a wedding ring, but you're giving _this_ back?" he swung the pendant.

"I didn't suppose it meant much anymore- and I hoped you would at least take that with you, since you didn't ask for anything else."

A heavy sigh, as he locked his arms around her, gawkily trying at the chain's catch, his fingers stroking the nape of her neck. As she shivered, the pendant fell back into its place in the hollow on her neck.

" 'Next to your heartbeat', wasn't it? What you said about it the other day? Call me sentimental, but-" he sent her a roguish look, which should have felt much more out of place than it did. Another silent moment, as he sat down in front of her, not minding his trousers this time. "And of course it meant some- everything," he corrected himself. "I didn't ask, because I thought it would be easier for you."

"Easier?"

"To forget. To go on."

"Jerry!" it was her turn to be reproachful, but he anwered calmly,

"I don't make promises I can't keep, Nan, you know that. And I'm mad- mad that I can't promise you anything. Not even that I'll make it out alive."

She paled and stretched out her hand to grab his. The fear which his words had sparked was relieved by the firm grip of his fingers- for now, at least.

"Don't say such things to me."

"I must. Otherwise you'll think I didn't care or some other such nonsense," he said decisively. "In any case, Nan, we're all going to change- we'll have to. And I want to minimize that on you."

"Just how, by estranging me?"

"By leaving you free to live your life with me gone!"

"But I don't want-"

"And I _want_ you to want, precisely!" he almost shouted. "If I die in this war at least I'll know I died for something- in a fight for what I believe in, protecting those that stayed and all they have."

"It won't be 'all' without you," she said, brokenly, and thanked the high tide- or low, she did not know- for a slight wind which threw her loose hair over her eyes as she was blinking away the unwanted tears.

"Listen to me," he set his mouth firmly and balled his fists to refrain from brushing her fringe off for her in what he knew would have turned into a caressing gesture. "If I die like that, I'll die gladly- or calmly, at least. But if I have to go thinking that I left you clinging to a promise- that you're missing out on something on my account- that you waste your life mourning me and what-ifs and might-have-beens, then I will have gone in vain!"

Nan buried her face in her arms, propped on her knees.

"I'm going so that you can live the way you have 'til now," he moved closer. "To let you go on in music and laughter and poetry and romance- and to keep this unshakable belief in the beauty of the world intact. The others will be needing this- _I_ will be needing this- and you are one of the few who'll be able to give it to us. The world cannot afford to lose you as you are now. So if I were to hold you to any promises, that would be the one."

Nan sprang to her feet and Jerry followed her swiftly, surmising an outburst.

"Do you think I don't understand why you're going? That I don't know that it's worth it- that I should be proud and h- honored," she didn't manage 'happy', "to let you go? If you stayed, it would cripple you- I know. And do you really think that low of me to expect me to falter in my belief in beauty when I've seen so much of it- with you? You don't have to _make_ me promise that. I'll keep it, anyhow."

Jerry was silent for a long time; then his black eyes shone peculiarly and he smiled.

"You're wonderful," he said simply, reaching for her hands- she had been flailing them mightily- but Nan folded her arms across her chest.

"You might want to take that back very soon, for I'll promise you something else, whether you want it or not- I _will_ wait for you. I'll wait anyhow and for as long as it takes and there is nothing you can do to stop me" then, forcefully, as if she wanted to make herself believe, too, wiping away two stubborn tears, "There can be happiness in that, too."

Jerry's answer was not in words. He didn't get hold of himself for a very long time, too, as he knew he wouldn't be able to bid her goodbye the way he wished to at the station tomorrow- he hated the good-willed people of the Four Winds at that moment for being so solidary in the wrongest of moments- and Nan responded with readiness that would have been inflaming, if it didn't ache so much.

"You should probably go," she forced herself to whisper finally, her lips brushing against his, unbearably. "It's late- you won't get enough sleep."

"I don't really need much of it."

Before he could bring himself to say the words that seemed to be swelling inside his chest, threatening to burst, they heard a loud whistle- a sign that Jem and Faith were nearing the crossroads, where the Meredith always left the Blythes on their way home.

The two pairs met at the fork when the moon had risen over the sad, dark sea behind them. It put silver crumbs in the eyes of the two girls as they crossed paths, switching partners.

"We're all coming early tomorrow," Jem admonished. "Before the crowds and Mary Vance."

"So are we," Jerry answered- and they could go, secure in their knowledge.

Nan nestled herself next to Jem and, without breaking the walk, she rested her head against his shoulder.

"I am so proud of you, you can't even know," she said, indulging in the non- necessity to guard your words that was allowed to sisters, but not sweethearts. She hoped to deflect attention from her still burning cheeks. It felt as though they would never return to their usual paleness- and she didn't half want them to.

"I'm going to miss you terribly, Kitten," Jem winced. "And you're giving me more reasons by the day."

"Alright. You can count on me to make a nuisance of myself tomorrow, then."

"I'm sure you will. You've been brave and quiet for so long, you should have burst long ago," he said in a sympathetic tone.

Nan laughed, wondering at the ease with which he could bring her to it.

"No worries. The only one of us that may cry a little, I think, is Mother- but you mustn't mind that."

"I wouldn't mind anything Dearwums's ever done or will do," Jem said solemnly. "I may mind something else entirely, though. Did Jerry-"

Nan's head did a strange gesture- half a denying nod, half a confirming shake.

"Not in words- nothing requiring a ring. But-"

"But in any other way that counts," Jem finished for her and frowned slightly. "He promised me he wouldn't, that rascal. Though I'm sure you had your finger in that pie- all the way up to the knuckle. I never asked- are you- do you-?"

"Yes," Nan answered meekly- but with a smile.

"Oh, joy. It's a very odd situation you're putting me in, you know? My best friend since I can't remember when- I'll be fighting along him what may be the greatest war the world has seen- and all the while I'll have to grapple with myself not to punch him."

"Look who's talking!" she laughed, extricating her arm for a mockingly exasperated akimbo.

"But Faith is-"

"Exactly what I am now," she interrupted. "Jerry just doesn't call her 'Kitten', that's all."

They walked on, in silence, unabashedly, until Ingleside's moon-kissed rooftop heaved into sight. Jem stopped.

"Trying to learn it by heart?"

"In case they don't let us come back once the training is done. Tell me honestly," he lowered his voice, "will you bear it somehow? I can see you're doing a good job of the brave smiling sister- and whatever else- act but I want the truth."

"I will. We all will," it sounded like a promise, rather than reassurance. "And you- are you really as fearless as you show?"

He laughed shortly.

"Goodness, Kitten, I'm scared stiff! Do you even have to ask? You know, you always knew since you were that small," he bent over to his knees, "whether I was afraid. It used to rub me until I realized you never blabbed anything- not even to Di."

"I wasn't really asking to find out," she conceded. "I just wanted to make sure you'd tell me."

"So I thought," he drew her closer to him and she knew it was not entirely to help her up the two veranda stairs. "I can count on you to wake me up tomorrow?"

"Always."

When Jem's door closed behind him, she descended the stairs again without a sound, then crossed the quiet, dark hallway and rapped on Di's green-painted door. She regretted having to wake her- Susan would have to give them cooled spoons for their eyes in the morning- but she felt she had to tell her about everything that had happened. Otherwise, Ingleside would just fall to pieces.


	7. A Farewell and A Greeting

_first of all, regarding a review from a Guest: I certainly hope it is the former. with fanfiction, I think, there are only so many places where you can take your characters if you want them to stay believable- unless you're doing a great revision, which is clearly not the case with me. incidentally, just two or three chapters before I had a conversation with another author about the same little reference to silver slippers from 'Rilla of Ingleside' that we both used. and the similarities, when you write a story for the same character which takes place at the same time, grow. that said, I definitely do **NOT** hawk over other people's work to fish something out for myself- which is what you implied, isn't it? the only thing I read for reference directly are the original books. however, since I haven't read that story in quite some time, I will go over it and make sure that I didn't get up to mischief unconsciously. just in case it should turn out so, I am really genuinely sorry- and thank you for keeping your finger on the pulse._

_as for the chapter: the underlined parts come, as usual, from 'Rilla of Ingleside', but since the events in this chapter mirror those in the books quite faithfully, I owe more to Maud than just a few sentences. Ken's merciless jokes, Susan and her bonnet, the whole Jims passage, Dog Monday, Fred Arnold, Mrs. Conover- are really all hers and were just molded so as to fit the story from a different vantage point. I didn't mark them explicitly, because it would have been too tiring for the reader with rows of five (or more) stars._

_as for the stars that are there: * this is actually a national Polish, not Wright superstition. as is the one about looking up to the ceiling (which used to be made of dark timber) to make one's children's eyes dark. _

_** I owe both the name and its effect on the baby to Rupert Hughes and his 'In a Little Town'. it was just too precious._

_*** Anzac biscuits- traditionally associated with WWI, to the best of my knowledge, sent by Australian and New Zealand women to their soldiers abroad. I tweaked the timeline here a little; the recipe was probably published in 1915 and it probably would have taken some more time still to reach P.E.I._

__Small Anne Cordelia's wedding is of course not compatible with my previous story. that one will be rewritten as soon as I suss out the details. oh, and by Laura I mean Laura Carr (although her surname is her husband's Douglas in this story). you might remember her from 'Anne of Ingleside'- chapters about Delilah Green.__

* * *

Jem and Jerry left the next morning. It was a dull, stifling day, the blue of the sky hidden by thick lengths of grey, swollen clouds and the greens around the Glen St. Mary station wreathed in damp fog.

"At least it isn't raining," Di said to Rilla, as they walked into the platform, carrying shortbread and mince pie that had not made it into Jem's luggage- not in the least for want of trying.

"I don't think we could have taken rain on top of it all," Rilla nodded. "Susan said Providence would not allow it."

The Merediths had arrived moments before; Faith and Una, Rosemary's bread and plum cake in hands, smiled amusedly.

"I ruined the first one," Faith indicated the cake- slightly green, for it was not yet the time for the Manse plum tree, but Jerry liked it far too much for Mrs. Meredith to omit it in the preparations- with a toss of her head and her golden curls, which she wore loose for Jem to marvel and Olive Kirk to disapprove, bounced against her shoulders. "I was trying to get the trunk to close so I sat on it-"

"Reasonable," Di teased.

"And before Una could stop me- I never knew she you could shout quite so loudly, either, you know?"

"I didn't mean to," Una said and her quiet surprise testified to her words.

"Anyhow, we had to bake another one- and because there weren't any more plums on our tree, poor Una had to spoon what she could from the previous one. I was up until the break of dawn, waiting for this to rise- Una would have too, only she fell asleep in the rocking chair."

"I didn't mean to," Una repeated, coloring a pretty shade of pink around her forehead and temples rather than cheeks.

"But I'm glad you did! At least Jerry will have one sister that won't be seeing him off yawning. I look ghastly."

She was not the only one; the Ingleside twins had been up half the night discussing tha happenings in the Valley and Di, despite her heavy eyelids, listened voraciously and squeezed Nan's hands, happy to be made part of the secret. They fell asleep together in her bed, curled up against one another as if they were little again. But they were not- and presently, they both looked pale and wan and creased. The light which shone in Nan's dark-cicled eyes was all gone now- but she smiled nonetheless, they all did. Even Susan wore a Providence-ordained smile and Nan had been wrong about Mother, too, for she came to her side very pale, but very gallant. Di marveled how similar they looked at that moment, despite the difference in eye and hair color.

In their usual chess board manner, they started shifting places and soon enough Nan was standing with Jerry and Jem cradled Faith's hand, murmuring something into her ear. Di found herself with Father, whose arm she took gladly.

"I don't think I will cry- I hope not- but what if I do without realizing?" she asked helplessly. Dad had a sensible answer, as always.

"Tweak your hat a little, love, it will cover your eyes and give you some time. Your mother's old funeral trick."

Slowly, although to Blythes and Merediths entirely too soon, both Glens, Four Winds, Harbour Head and even the over-harbour piled into the station. Ken Ford sprung from the Wests' buggy and rushed to the platform as soon as his ankle would allow for it. Di caught a glimpse of him talking to Rilla- but then that horrid old Mrs. Drew accosted Mother, whining something about 'standing this' and '_her_ pore boy' and Father rushed to the rescue, hauling her behind.

The air started to sizzle with animated talks, with evocations of Kitchener, the British Empire, the Kaiser and with Norman Douglas's booming. Predictions about the duration- months enmeshed with years- turned her wooly head and Ethel Reese's tuneless sobbing wasn't of any help. What, for heaven's sake, had that minx to cry about? Di watched with satisfaction when Ken grimaced and shook her arm to calm her without the slightest bit of gentleness she could take for affection. Wasn't he a dear, after all?

"The Blythe family are taking it easy," said Kate Drew, empoisoning the one remotely enjoyable moment of that day, but Di soon comforted herself by stepping on Kate's new shoes. Who wore white silk slippers to walk on a sandy road known to dissolve to a swamp on wet days?

The train whistled and they all turned to it with aching, sudden realization. The Blythes and the Merediths sifted through the crowd and huddled into a confusion of final smiles, goodbyes and embraces. Mother held onto Jem's hand, blind to Monday who licked in turn at her and his fingers, and Mrs. Meredith stood next to Jerry, not quite sure whether she could do the same when her almost-son listened so intently to what her husband was telling him.

Eveything blurred before Di's eyes so she lowered the brim of her Florentine, pretending to fix its black streamer. Jem's arms stifled her.

"Take care, Carrots, and for heaven's sake don't ruin my reputation in Kingsport!"

"Stay well, Diana, have a good one," that had to be Jerry.

She blinked the tears away just in time not to miss out on the last of farewells. The train was in- _where_ was Walter?!

Jem kissed Faith before everybody–old Mrs. Drew whooped hysterically–the men, led by Kenneth, cheered.

"Di, look!" Rilla moved in closer and nestled herself to her side, as Di drew her closer in her instinctive, eldest-sister-way. "Has Susan lost her mind?"

Susan was hurrahing louder than Kenneth and waving her cap along with the rest of the men. Brown eyes met green and they laughed in the midst of it all.

Di slipped away- for Jerry was still standing at the platform although Jem had mounted the train stairs, lulling Nan in his arms with fierce, almost wild flashes in his eyes. Finally he pulled away- yelled into her ear what he would have whispered if it hadn't been for the hellish noises- and sprang to where Jem was standing.

The train crawled out of the station- men's hats went up once again, Susan's bonnet flying next to Shirley's newsy cap- Monday howled dismally. The Methodists' minister fell to his knees to keep him from tearing after the train. Jem's grin wavered in the distance.

Not wanting Faith to beat her to it, Di strode to Nan and they joined hands. Faith ran up to them and seized Nan's other hand as Una gently took hers. Together, they walked on, waving, hoping that their joint hands would be visible longer, much longer.

The train rounded the curve- Monday yelped and dug his teeth in the good minister's hand- they were gone.

There was a sudden quiet. Nothing to do now but to go home–and wait. Faith and Nan extracted themselves from Mother and Rosemary and walked in front of everyone, clinging to one another. Di set out to catch up to them. As she came close enough to call after them, she heard Nan's unusually high voice.

"Jerry said- he told me- he loved me!"

"I really don't see why you are so surprized," was Faith's reply and Di knew she was smiling even if she couldn't see her. "You knew- everybody knew."

"It wasn't what he said- it was just that he did say," Nan was dismayed into slightly dubious grammar. "But, Faith- I never got to say it back! I wanted to- Di just showed up out of nowhere before I recovered."

Diana stopped dead. Suddenly, there was no right place for her. She had been so sure Nan needed her that she had left the rest behind. Walter and Rilla walked with Mother and Dad- Shirley had gone back to the station to fetch Monday, whom everybody had forgotten.

"He knew- everybody knew," Faith was saying, finding the words with ease Diana would have lacked.

She shuddered- then suddenly, blissfully, a little white hand pulled at her sleeve.

"Let them, Di," Una counseled shyly. "Now is not when we would do."

* * *

Di really took to her journal, although no one else was more surprised at this than she was.

_I had to change my pen-nib_ _before writing today, as all I'd been chronicling about was Liege and Namur and Brussels falling and 'a broken, a beaten, but not a demoralized, army' recently. But the happenings of today require a fresh nib- and italics besides._

**_Rilla has brought home a little war orphan in a soup toureen. _**_There!_

_She went to drive about for Red Cross supplies and she returned with the newborn Anderson boy. The poor mother had died under the care of a Mrs. Conover- I have no recollection at all, but Nan claims she used to send us and the Merediths to the devil when we went to play on Mr. Boyd's potato field. The scarecrow was still there when Rilla came and was more than glad to surrender the child to 'the doctor's miss.'  
_

_"If ye've knack with kids," she had had the decency to add, according to Rilla's account, one half bashful and the other infuriated. _

_For now it has been decided that the little one is staying at Ingleside for as long as it takes to get through to his father, who is also overseas. And it was Rilla's resolution for it to be so, as Father had pulled his stern and immovable face to see whether she would agree to attend to it herself- although the message suffered when he winked at us from behind Rilla's back. Nan kept kicking my ankles under the cover of the table over which Susan was hovering- incidentally, she froze with nothing else but a soup toureen halfway down. _

_Puss despaired over the feeding and bathing hours. Susan couldn't help her with anything more than a suggestion, for Father kept around and we all know that when 'Dear Dr.' says a thing must be- that thing is. Nan and I played along and merely told her where to look for our old baby basket in the attic. _

_"Just think how timely for Mother, with Jem gone and us leaving for Redmond next week," Nan whispered into my ear, one moment shy of me complaining how the little one would be disturbing Dad's afternoon shut-eyes. He really is an angel to take to it as calmly as he did- although I did mind the instructions not to tease Rilla which he issued. What a waste- but it's all for the better, I suppose, we can leave the best digs for letters to Jem- I can already see him hooting to Jerry about it!  
_

__Poor Mother didn't seem to think the baby's arrival all that timely upon coming home and being told by Susan that Rilla was upstairs, putting **her** baby to bed- although she was won over all too easily after the initial discomposure had gone. __

_Rilla, for her part, is coping rather well with her five pounds of woe and I must say I'm impressed, for Rilla's antipathy to children is as well known as it is incomprehensible to Mother, Nan and myself. But she's been poring over Mother's old 'Morgan on Infants' studiously over the last two days and she is doing quite fine, only except for night time, for the boy is given to being colicky. I heard Miss Oliver climb the stairs to Nan's room just the other day although, by rights, she should have gone for mine, as it is far bigger. But my room is nearer Rilla's and Gertrude can be far more earth-bound than she makes out. Of course I wouldn't say anything about it to her, for she is too overwrought with Mr. Grant, who is already at Valcartier. He enlisted days after Jem and Jerry did, having prevailed in his latest case. I think, though, if the baby does cry again tonight I'll just follow her, even if I have to sleep on Nan's carpet. It's a nice, fluffy thing that will go well with the earplugs Dad gave me surreptitiously over supper.  
_

_Susan's sulking and it shows in the coarsely ground almonds in our morning oatmeals. She and 'Morgan on Infants' tend to differ about certain things and Rilla slants towards the latter every time. The child is really being brought up with the 'due care and scrupulous attention' Morgan recommends. Rilla obeys him like the gospel. _

_He is the sweetest little chappy, too, perfectly **eatable**, in Mother's words: slightly puny still, but bright eyed and crisp-cheeked, with countless little wrinkles and kinks that are made for tickling and kissing. If only Morgan and Rilla would allow it. Nan nursed him once as Rilla was preparing a bottle. She must have violated many a Morgan rule therewhile for Rilla sent her a few sideway glances. Finally, when Nan adressed him as 'a tweet itty wee singie', she pouted and accused Nan of retarding the boy's development by distorting correct speech. _

_"I nursed **you** when you were his size," she replied witheringly- and Nan has no match in being withering when she wants to. "Yet, miraculously, you turned out fine. Ithn't zat wight, Sweets, deawie?" that with a tickle at his pink little heel. To be fair, I am with Dads on the baby talk, but I wouldn't want to be caught in the crossfire; I experienced it once with Mother and Dad over Bruce Meredith and it's something I don't care to relive.  
_

__The boys still hasn't a name; we're waiting for a reply from Halifax, but his father hasn't shown much interest so far. Just to be on the safe side, he'll likely be given the father's own name, James. It should wear well and Mr. Anderson won't likely fault it- but it doesn't do for now, when he's so little. Nan and Mother have christened him 'Sweets'- quite fittingly, if my opinion counts for anything- Dad has settled for 'Toureen Boy'- even more fitting, but not quite with the same ring to it- Rilla never calls him anything other than 'the baby'. Susan wanted more say at least in that department and insisted upon appending 'Kitchener' to his first name and then warped that stubbornly into a pet-name of 'Little Kitchener'. He must be a very clever little thing, as he responds to **all** these denominations without a fail- and Walter, to cap it all, has taken to calling him 'Jims' recently. I'm inclined to think it will stick; Walter is knacky like that.__

_The only sore with the boy is that he doesn't smile. Even Una hasn't managed to bring him to it; we thought once she would, as she sat with him kicking gladly in her arms. She said something to him- whether it was baby talk I didn't hear- and she petted him until his pink little mouth looked as if something tucked at its corners- but then he set his mind against it and went back to his usual placid, well-fed demureness. Una did smile, though, looking for all the world like a little, black-crowned Madonna. It was Walter who pointed out to me that Una is never one to be involved in any romantic entanglements and yet she seems born to sit in a rocking chair with a wee child in her arms. _

_"A perfect tea-rose," he said._

_When I joked that tone is a prerequisitve for the other, he just frowned, but that evening he sat with me under The White Lady to write. He hasn't in a long time as much as mentioned poetry. It's hard for me to watch the little longing look which seems to have nestled itself in Una's eyes for good. It frightens me to know how hurtful love can make us- and not even by putting us up to **do** things, but simply by blindfolding us to the things we do. Now, this is one of the worst clichés I have ever committed to paper- but surely one is allowed a platitude every now and then in the privacy of her own journal?  
_

_I'm half glad to be leaving Ingleside because of all this. I've never liked others' secrets on my shoulders and it seems to me that new ones pile up with every day we spend at home. We're leaving with the first of September- we're going to Kingsport to settle down and on our very first weekend we'll be off to Avonlea. Small Anne Cordelia- with the exception of Nan, she's still that to us, just as I am and forever shall remain Small Diana to Uncle Fred and Co. - is getting married to her Ned, before he goes. The war has a way of speeding things up- Nan tells me Ned wanted to go immediately, but the Wrights have an old family superstition that a marriage month needs an 'r' in it, lest the children should be lispers.* So they waited until September._

_"Mother and Dad had a September wedding, too, and the_y got me wrong all the same," Rilla pouted with age-old wisdom upon learning of the sentiment. "All there is to do is refraining from baby talk." __

__Nan smirked, I know, even if her mouth was hidden behind th_e edge of the letter. She is to be maid of honor.__  
_

_"It will be too bittersweet to be borne," she said about the wedding, folding the letter in half._

_Bittersweet or not, I hope it isn't spoiled with war-talk the way Laura's baby's baptism was. Poor Ellaphine was brought among the God's children in the midst of such a debate that she could have just as well been baptised to the accompaniment of missiles whizzing in the air- I suppose she won't grow up to fit her elegant name as Laura would wish, but the name will grow militant to fit her instead._**_ But here I am, spoiling another pen-nib with war writing. _

_It will still be Avonlea- it's a sweet prospect to have to look forward to, especially with Nan and Faith already talking of Collegiate Reds uniforms. It is a relief, too, that we will be able to take Walter away from here. He'll agonize himself less there, I hope- I'd like to be able to write that I know, but I don't- nobody does, these days. He's so absent._

_**I'm** sipping the sweet from our last days in the Glen as preparations for the wedding have necessitated putting sheets and cigarettes aside. I whip frills with Nan- I dandle little Kitchener when Rilla is too busy handling Junior Reds- Wa_lter, Shirley. Nan and I pay Monday visits at the station- and we have tea at the veranda with Mother every evening now. I will be missing that- but there is so much I **won't** miss that I feel almost vile for it. __

Di heard voices outside and she laired behind her window curtain. Rilla has returned home from a Junior Reds meeting. She was not alone- the son of the Methodists' new minister, Ted or maybe Fred, was going on about poetry and ideals. Good effort, Di acknowledged, but the huge, faintly snubbed hunk of his nose was a tragedy that could not be looked over.

And Rilla was likely letting him walk her home for the second time this week only because Nan had been rather indelicate in relating Ken's goodbyes. She should have left the Spider as well as the jokes about Rilla's 'absorbing maternal duties' out of it; Puss would have covered the way from the Upper Glen leaping for joy and all by her lonesome. But Nan had appreciated the joke too much. She was entirely too much of Kenneth's closest, like-minded chum to find such digs insulting and too much of an elder, babying-prone sister to notice Rilla's lisping, which only recurred at certain times in life, most of which were cases of Kenneth Ford being around.

In the usual circumstances, Di would have shared what she had observed in the year when she was at home and which Nan had spent away in Avonlea- but the circumstances were not usual. Ever since the mishap at the station, Di had been watching her steps closely. She had never and likely would never feel so meddlesome in the whole of her life. It was a curious sensation that it should have been her own twin who had left her so estranged. Diana grew wary of reaching out to Nan; she listened to whatever Nan had to say, but she asked no questions, nor did she probe for confessions.

A wall which she erected was very flimsy still- but grew stronger with every day when Nan failed to notice Di's alienation, as she and Faith tried out endless Anzac*** recipes with Susan's mighty help. Di shook her head half sorrowful and half haughty, as if it could help her get ride of all obtrusive thoughts. A sudden suspicion regarding her other sister sneaked into her mind.

"I hope she had the sense not to meet Mrs. Elliott on the way," she thought impatiently. Just then, Rilla lifted her head; she had not had to do it before, Di noticed, for she was only a little shy of Fred's- or Ted's- height. She noticed Di and winked, managing somehow not to laugh in the boy's presence. Di, however, could and did laugh before drawing the curtain back.

In Kingsport they wouldn't have to worry about such things as religious antipathies of the old friends of the family. In Kingsport, she would not be the one lurking behind the window curtain, but rather the one on the veranda.

In Kingsport- !


	8. Kingsport

_my, I am really very sorry for the size of this chapter. there was a lot to take in and a lot to pass on. _

_as for the formalities: the underlined part comes from LMM's 'Anne's House of Dreams.' two characters introduced here are my own creation, but based on LMMs snipepts about Anne's old college friend, while Willmouse and Joss are entirely my own, introduced in my previous story. as for the rationings- I'm not sure whether they would kick in as early as in September 1914, I couldn't find any proper Canada-related info. help?  
_

_* the name comes from Jill Barklem's Brambly Hedge. I needed a queer, funny name- and in came my little godson, asking me to read to him. I was half ashamed at using it- but it seemes to suit Mrs. Violet as well as her little ones far too much._

_ and last but not least- thank you a thousand times for reviews, favorites and follows. it really means a lot- and I'm sorry if it doesn't show how grateful I am.  
_

* * *

They waited for Persis at the station, emburdened with their own trunks, a cover basket with Nan's cat, snorting wildly, Mrs. Elliott's quilts- the kind-hearted lady had made each for every one of them, poring over the embroidery all too devotedly to think of the nuisance they would make while traveling- and Rosemary's plum cake, properly purplish and tawny now, in September. If Anne Blythe were to watch Kingsport, enshrouded in the last of a sunrise of blue, white and pallid gold, together with her girls she would have remarked that Kingsport had not changed much. It was louder, faster, more evolved, no doubt, but its air was no less quaint and secretive than it had been in her day.

But the girls were not appreciative of the beauties which lay around them, their minds given to things infinitely more trivial. Faith kept glancing on her watch impatiently and Nan toddled around the platform. It had been her call to 'greet the house properly', all inmates in one fell swoop, but it was also she who was saying presently,

"I'm half-inclined to think it was Persis's own doing. She likes to make an entrance."

"Pot, kettle, black," was Di's answer, at which Nan threw one of her gloves onto her twin's lap, missing her face quite considerably.

The train was late by over an hour. Di didn't mind having to wait too much; for as long as they waited, Walter stayed with them. They would be going together to the Students' Crescent, for Walter's had decalred to help them carry the quilts, but then he would have to depart swiftly as his boarding house was on the other end of the town.

"I hope you do appreciate," Di murmured from her more comfortable spot on the bench which Walter had gallantly ceded; he was sitting close on her right, where the planks were threatening to snap under his weight, his shoulder serving as a bolster for her and lowered his head, intrigued, as she went on moodily, "that I've kept mum about you persisting on not taking Jem's old apartment. We would have been much closer."

He smiled.

"I do."

The people of Kingsport cruised next to them, and Di felt slightly startled. They paid no attention to them whatsoever, save one tall, pretty girl who greeted Faith with much fuss and cheek-kissing, but soon proclaimed to have to 'dash'. It was quite different from the usual smiles and nods they would have received in Glen St. Mary.

"Finally!" Faith flounced from her bench, as they heard the train's sharp whistle.

The train pulled up- the doors were flung open and they all rushed to them, expecting Persis to need help with her likely overwhelming suitcase. As Di stood on her toes, trying to find a familiar face and failing, a well-remembered voice was heard behind her back.

"Dianne! Nannette!" in the crowd of passengers, they only saw two little hands thrown out of the window, waving briskly, and they knew, they would have known even if they had not recognized the voice; only Persis Ford would have addressed the Blythe twins with those.

She made it to the platform soon enough, as two young men in khaki elbowed her way out for her and another two handed her suitcase and yet another meowing cover basket out the window and surrendered them into Walter's stretched out arms.

"Thanks, boys, it's been a lark! Take care!" Persis waved jauntily and, never minding the lingering looks the whole four sent her, threw herself into the twins' open arms. After they'd had enough of bumbling around the station and giggling, Persis turned to Walter.

"Walter, Walter, do you ever change- just the tiniest little bit? _Non_?" she asked, laughingly, and kissed him on the cheek; something most girls would dream of doing, but never dare to. But Persis was, by Ken proxy, as much of a favorite with Walter, as she was with 'Uncle Gil.'

"No, I'm still my old boring self, as you see. With good purpose, though- I counterbalance _you_," he sent her an eloquent look. Di, who only now had the chance to take a good look, knew exactly how he meant.

Persis was a vivid, glittering birdie of a girl, she had always been so, but she looked decidedly different. Her travel suit was a bold, ungirdled affair in sea blue and her cap an outlandish, large thing with a narrow, turned up brim. She wore her hair almost loose, tied with a careless ribbon low at the nape of her neck, and Di noticed it was much lighter than the honey-tinted waves she had remembered; she could have little doubt that it was not the result of the Japanese sun. Her sky-blue eyes had remained the same, but the gentle bows of her eyebrows had twisted into an arched shape and taken on the color of ebony. She did not have the gentle, questioning look like Little Rilla's. Rather, in Persis's face, people- men- found the answers to questions they were afraid to ask. The red of her lips was only matched by that on her fingernails- and her accent was a curious mixture of vowels that were a little too tense and too rounded and a strange blend of s's and t's all over her rendition of demonstratives.

She was not similar to Aunty Leslie in the least, despite this newly acquired similarity in the coloring; she and Ken both belonged undoubtedly more among the Ford rather than the West lot, but, in short, she was gorgeous beyond belief.

She turned from Walter and faced Faith- then tilted her head a little, with a smile that was both anticipatory and puzzling, at least to poor Faith, who stretched out a stiff hand.

"Hello, Persis, nice to-"

But Persis didn't let her finish, failing to smother a chuckle.

"Oh, come on, Faith, spare poor me the formalities," she put her hands flat on Faith's forearms, clearly not yet comfortable enough for a proper embrace, and plopped a peck on Faith's flushed cheek. "I've had a year of talking to diplomats, writers and grand figures. Surely we can all just be young and easy, _non_?"

Faith laughed, nodding- and they were good to go. They hopped into the cab summoned by Walter and they headed 'home' as Faith had put it- and no one protested to giving the yet unknown house that name, at least for the time being.

* * *

_Dearwums,_ Di wrote to Mother, as all Ingleside children had taken to use Jem's old endearment phrase in his absence, _'please be informed' that we are all well and safe and tucked in at Apple Drop._

_Isn't it a darling of a name? It took a while for us to settle on something proper; from the start we knew that all the old -nooks and -sides and -lodges wouldn't do for a house as special as ours- by rights, all houses on the street have such uncommon names. The boys next door live in the Burrow- oh, but I'm getting everything mixed up **something scandalous**! Let me begin properly._

_Apple Drop is nestled snuggly in what Kingsport calls Students' Crescent and I swear I haven't found a plate with its real name nor have I managed to find out anything about it from our neighbors, which makes me worry about the post a bit. But the street lives up to its name- it's full to the brim with our Redmond lot and, if I'm not mistaken, none other than Dr. Parker's daughter, Alice herself lives just around the corner- or else she has a friend whom she visits very frequently. But it would be just the scenario in which Susan would quote: 'Withdraw thy foot from thy neighbour's lest...' and I don't suspect poor Alice of being so intruding.  
_

_That said, the street could just as well be called Cats' Crescent, for we seem to have an abundance of that meowling lot. Pine Drop itself has two declared inhabitants, Nan's Crumble and Persis's Minette, and at least one speckled stowaway which Faith had christened Catkin and who has become very much her own cat even if she never lets her in. Incidentally, our closest neighbors on the left have a little kitten of the name Pipkin- and those directly in front of us a dignified Maltese whom they address as 'Shakespeare.' _

_But we don't limit ourselves to cats, no, we're by no means so discriminatory. Just on her second day Persis came back home with a little white terrier. Upon my protestations, she just said I should be glad she didn't go for the parrot as she had originally planned- so I was glad. That one goes by Oscar. Persis promised that he would be unnoticeable, but for now it is Nan who takes him out on the morning walk, when she goes to collect our post and pick up the bakery, and Faith and I do rounds taking him out in the evening. _

_The walks are very educational- for the Students Crescent is in fact just one offshoot of a complicated labrinth of streets and we haven't gotten our heads around it as yet- and perfectly enjoyable, too, as it is a very decorative offshoot. We live in the old part of the city, reasonably close to the university, and so the street seems literally sunk in green. We pass a willow on our way whose withes hang upon the sidewalk like a sun-weaved curtain. Walter is absolutely in love with that tree.  
_

_But the delights of the street are really nothing compared to Apple Drop and its garden. When we arrived there for the first time, Nan stopped so abruptly that the jerk woke Crumble in his basket._

_"Why, Faith, this is straight out of Hodgson Burnett!" she cried- and she wasn't wrong with that one. _

_The house itself seems to be changing size depending on who's looking at it. Sometimes it seems very grand and imposing- and yet Persis refers to it as 'this dear little place'. It is a simple stone lump surrounded by a juniper hedge, a twisting little path leading the way to the only door which is on the back, pines guarding our little conk of a porch facing the garden, which takes up really quite extraordinally large portion of the plot. Vines must have climbed its gray walls for years, there is a pattern of leaves and stalks chiseled on one side of the house, and the other side is being reclaimed again. Faith said we should ask Walter to dig it out- but one look on his face told her that the vines were here to stay. And very well, too, for our big, maroon-shuttered windows do need a frame.  
_

_The garden is a real delight; an irrepressible riot of late freesias, carnations and shy little rose buds. There is a crabapple tree snuggled in the corner, dwarfed by our six pines, but not nearly enough not to bear an overwhelming abundance of fruit which we have to turn, on and off, into jams, tarts and pies as we find red balls in the lush grass every other day without a fail. It's_ ridiculous, really, and we would appreciate if Susan could pass on some creativity. _The trees sway with the wind very gracefully, letting through fleeting shafts of sun- was it as pallidly golden here in your day?- which dance on our windows every day. _The ground, Faith assures us, is good and we will be able to grow our own raspberries, tomatoes and other such little things. _ I'm inclined to think she's got it right, judging by the abundance of herbs which weave their way among our flowers. There's mint with its coolness, lemon balm as fresh as you could wish for and sage with its nice, unassuming smell. Going outside is like entering a dining room in fairy land- Nan's expression, not mine, of course. They'll be good for the colds we'll likely be getting in the winter- those dear old houses come with a price to pay- and they make a good addition to Persis's queer, hot ginger and honey drink which we like to take with our supper.  
_

_There was, however, one greater delight found in the garden- Nan had the pleasure. _

Walter distributed their luggages as they ordered him about, briefly marvelled at the house and bid the girls goodbye. In a confusion of excited squeels, Faith, Di and Persis flew up the stairs to see the bathroom, or the kitchen, or the hall- but she felt a keen need to get acquainted with the garden. It was possessed of freesias far fuller and taller than Susan's- and that required a certain dose of respect in one's treatment of it.

She breathed in the resinous, balmy air which surrounded the house and walked among the rose bushes- there were red, and pink and tea roses, but no whites, which she took for a good omen. Love hopeful and expectant, and triumphant, but not dead or forsaken. And the tea roses, well- who could mind tea roses?

Bending to pick a pine needle off her shoe, she noticed a late blueberry shrub which by rights belonged to the garden neighboring theirs, but whose sprigs reached over the fence planks.

She looked around; surely her neighbors wouldn't begrudge her this little handful- and in any case, nobody had to know. When she smacked her lips on the sweet blue beads, a laughing voice from the other garden resounded with surprizing closeness.

"Enjoy your meal- or should I say _my_ meal?"

Nan cried something inarticulate and tripped. She would have fallen to the ground in her new white travel costume if it hadn't been for a well-meaning juniper shrub. She looked around anxiously, still spreadagled across the prickly branches.

Behind the fence, a young man jumped out of the hammock and rushed to the barrier, leaning over it with a stretched hand. He was laughing at her quite openly, but still said amiably,

"Oh, boy, I'm terribly sorry! Didn't mean to scare you, honest!"

Nan looked at him gingerly which only prompted him to laugh more. She did not find reproach in his face, only a well-known Josephy race quality around the eyes.

"I should be the one apologizing," she said and her cheeks suffused with color, not the pretty girlish pink but rather the brick red of a culprit, before taking the hand he offered and allowing herself to be pulled to her feet.

"Not at all!" he said briskly. "I'm happy to share, as long as I'll still be allowed my share of your apples."

Nan laughed and assured him he was more than welcome. She looked at the stranger with the same curiosity with which he watched her. In all honesty, it was rather improper and even more awakward to regard one another so silently, but they were both too preoccupied.

He was rather hard to put down on the age line, but certainly very handsome with the irregular, frisky sort of good looks. There was a brown gloss on his smooth hair, his eyes, below the oddly-pointed black eyebrows, were as nut-brown as Nan's own- and his mouth curled in a puzzled smirk.

"Do you have the impression, too?" he asked suddenly, freely propping both elbows on the mossy fence.

"And what would that be?"

"That we've met each other before."

As Nan about to cut him short, disappointed by the first intriguing impression gone so wrong, she beheld the one fissure in the niceness of his face, which was his crooked nose. Likely broken in a school fight, only- in truth, it seemed bent on progressing towards greater aquiline arch of its own accord rather than through a school boy's doing.

"Indeed," she had to say. Then she shook her head, recovering her usual aplomb. "We're both being silly, though- perhaps an introduction will help? I'm Nan."

He tilted his head and his fingers drummed on the fence.

"It might help indeed. May I just ask- is the ginger one that just bolted to the house Diana, by any chance?"

"How do- why- she is," poor Nan gasped, before going on to council good-naturedly, "But you'd be better off not calling her that."

"What, ginger? Ah, that's right, she's the edgy one, I remember!"

Nan threw her hands up.

"I'm not so lucky, I'm afraid- I'm sorry."

"Come on, put your mind to it. You may remember this," he tapped on a small scar on the inside of his right wrist. "That's your doing. You had very sharp milk teeth."

"How-" Nan began asking, then looked at his nose again- and dissolved into laughter. "Of course! Philippe-with-an-E, I remember now!"

For a while he looked as though he was torn between smiling at being recognized and wincing upon remembering his childish insistence upon that nonsense of a name.

"I've thought better of it since," he replied sheepishly. "It's just Philip now."

"I'm awfully sorry- I almost had you as a flirt," Nan said openly. "But it's been a while since you all wisited us. Also, why are you not-" she broke off.

"Overseas?" he finished for her, miraculously still no sign of annoyance.

Nan nodded apologetically.

"I didn't mean- I'm sorry. Aunt Phil wrote Mother that you and your brother both went immediately."

"That we did. Only Gordy passed the final examination at Valcartier, I didn't," he winced impatiently. "Pneumonia, last spring."

She nodded again, with fresh understanding.

"And your brothers?"

"Jem's there. We expect he'll be leaving for Europe soon. Walter couldn't- typhoid, last winter," mirroring his curt way of speaking. "Don't mind me, but I think your Mother will take it better this way."

He looked grateful.

"I think so to- though that's not to say I won't try again. She'll take it even better, though, when I tell her about this- her 'Queen Anne's daughters right under my nose! She'll be getting on poor Dad to come and visit now, I bet."

"I hope so!" Nan smiled sincerely before stretching her hand out for a good-bye shake and receiving a kiss on it instead. "And I hope you'll be coming over often enough- _after_ we've put everything to order!" she added laughingly, seeing his willingness to breach the fence by jumping over it. "I haven't even seen my own room yet!"

_The rooms are three, as you know, and all very different. Faith's taken up the littlest one, right next to the kitchen- which is good with her night-owlish ways, as the light she keeps until the wee hours does not reach up to the upper part of the house where Persis, Nan and I sleep at that time. I asked Nan whether Faith has been pursuing a career as a contortionist that we did not know of before, but she pursed her lips with her severe look- you know which one, don't you, Dearwums? the one that could send anyone except Mary Vance off P.E.I.- and mumbled something about finances making people more flexible. I thought you would like to know in case they should need something at the Manse and you, being your lovable self, wanted to help; I suppose with Jerry- and his scholarship- gone, they must be feeling the pinch, even with Mr. Douglas's hefty donations. I never gave a single thought to why Una never went to Queens with us, but knowing her propensity for sacrifice, there might be something... but I've deviated from the subject.  
_

_The kitchen is not very big, but it is the dearest place in the house with furnitures of very different provenances each. Even the cabinets are not one set; on the surface at least, because they do seem to belong together inextricably. I especially happen to like the one with the drawers, which are all different colors: blue, green, red and yellow. It should make it easy for us to remember what is kept where, but it doesn't, of course. Nan and I still follow Susan's scheme, Faith- Mrs. Meredith's and Persis just scatters everything around however the fancy takes her. The table is far too big for such a small place, objectively, but with the four of us, Walter and Phil, a self-proclaimed conversationalist- he is here often enough to be actually deemed a housemate- it makes for the most comfortable gathering place, never lacking space for another crabapple pie and our tea cups. The cups-as well as the cutlery- are chipped and cracked enough to have a homey feel about them and they came with the house in a ludicrous abundance. The only problem was, we got tens and tens of tea spoons, but not a single knife sharp enough to slice through bread, so Susan's and Mrs. Meredith's emergency packets stood us in good stead. We're much obliged. _

_The chairs are likewise each to their own- Nan and I settled for the plain, wooden type, Faith was even more austere by choosing a little leather stool, while Persis occupies a wing chair of faded purple brocade. I thought it unfair that Persis should have both the best room **and** the best chair, but it really fits all her kinks. And, anyhow, Faith didn't seem bent on that chair. She and Persis have proved surprizingly compatible. They weren't entirely so at first- we only have one bathroom- until Persis despaired over a beau dilemma in Faith's presence. _

_"He really is a sore to watch," she was explaining to helpless Nan as Faith walked in with Walter. "But he says the nicest things- and with the nicest of accents." _

_"Well, you can't spend a date, let alone a life, with your eyes closed, can you now?" Faith said sensibly between swinging her hat onto her shoulders and reaching for a shoe-hook. "And in any case, accents are a tricky thing, you never know where you are with them and how they're going to change. The most important thing I've learned about people's looks is ears is ears from start to finish and that's what you should look at to get at least a modern degree of stability. Although _I can't for the life of me remember where I got that from._"_

_Nan and I could- and had a rather unsolidary giggle- and we teased her mercilessly that she only said it because Jem's ears are so nice. _

_Our room is upstairs, and it's the middle one in size. Here, to make up for the thrown-together look of the kitchen, everything is white. The walls, the floor, the carpet on it, the beds, the shelves above them- everything is the same, unbroken shining whiteness. The only splashes of color are our books, the odd pieces of clothing that I scatter around- Susan need not know, does she?- and the embroidery on our bedclothes. Mrs. Elliott has marked each of our quilts with our names in different colors; mine is blue and Nan's pink. _It could turn your head around, especially given that the room is designed for twins more twinnish than Nan and myself; its both sides are a mirror reflection of one another. This is the work of Apple Drop's owner who was overjoyed to hear she's going to be landladying twins. Mrs. Crustybread* is her name- I swear to Gog and Magog!- and, as it turned out, she is possesed of a pair of her own; Winnifred and Wilfred, aged ten, freckled, pale and lanky things both of them. It seems that your luck- or misfortune- with twins was carried onto Nan and myself with the Shirley noses. __

_Persis's room is the biggest one, next to ours, but it really is more of a budoir than a student's bedroom. The walls are mauve, this toned, muted shade of pink that somehow escapes looking faded which I like especially- why, Dearwums, did you have to pass on the hair color onto my poor, innocent head, too? I could have done with black or brown at least, really! The furniture is white, Hepplewhite- what a pun!- and arranged into several 'cosy corners' for Minette and Oscar to curl up in. Mrs. Elliott's quilt doesn't really fit in there with its vivid sea-green 'PERSIS' and it's a bit short, too. The bed is enormous- so is the wardrobe- but Persis is much more expansive than that. She has arranged our tiny garret into the cosiest den where we like to sit on our big cushions when there are no guests calling. She and Faith even hung up a hammock on the rafters; it has only rained once so far and all four of us instinctly scrambled up to the garret to listen to the droplets plip- plopping through the pine branches onto our roof. _

_We've managed to arrive at a sensible scheme of housemaking chores; Faith does the windows, Nan the sweeping, Persis attends to the dusting and the bathrooms; she has a fluffy colorful duster of the kind that you would only expect to see in Gibson to be scoffed at by Susan. That leaves me with the dishes. I must say I'm enjoying it, not unlike Una Meredith; she always says it gives her the time to think without leaving her guilty about wasted time. We all take turns cooking- well, all except Persis, as she couldn't scramble an egg to save her life. But Faith's scones have no match, neither do Nan's pies- and Susan needn't be ashamed of my own skills either._

_You can see, dearest, that you're fretting- because I know you are- for no reason at all. We will have many happy times here- we've already had- and we will stay safe, rest assured, the pines will be watching over us, and not just in the garden, but in all of Kingsport.  
_

It was Phil who suggested going to the park as he sat with Di and Nan in Apple Drop's little kitchen, one elbow propped languidly on the table, scooping up some sugar from the bowl nearby and watching it pour back down, one white crystal after another, as he tilted the spoon. Before him lay a plate, licked clean of any remnants of Faith's crabapple tart and his tossed-aside Panama.

"We might," Nan answered, slamming the green drawer back in before moving to a cupboard beside the spice rack. "I think it was one of those places Mother also stressed specifically. Oh, where, _on_ _earth_, and _why_ did you move cocoa again?

Philip looked alarmed and put down the spoon, before Di answered calmly,

"The blue drawer, I think, but that was Persis."

Nan tried that- gave a little irritated snort and peeked into a half-empty box.

"Should be enough, but I'll leave _that," _she indicated the drawer and Phil stood up to find the Manse kitchen utensils in spilled cocoa powder_,_ "for Persis."

"I'm sure she'll be delighted," he laughed, propped his hands on the top of the cabinet this time and leaned on them. "Do you need any help?"

Di remarked that Aunt Phil's son was everything like what she remebered of her in always looking languid and comfortable, even as well-turned out as he was now in his light summer suit. He was likewise easy to be quiet with and when Nan refused the offer, slightly testily, he just watched her splash rum onto cocoa-filled saucer and grind it before pouring it all to the plums simmering on the stove. He had brought them a sizeable hamper as an excuse for calling at Apple Drop fourth day in a row and Nan had promptly decided that they could do with preserves that were not crabapple-based in the winter to come.

Di raised her cup and found the tea gone. Phil pushed the pot to her.

"Tell me now," she demanded of him, taking particular care to keep the chipped lid in its place, "how do you ever get your names right in the house?"

"What- oh, you mean Mother and I?" he laughed a little distractedly. "There really is no plane for misunderstandings, if you think about it. Gordon and myself have her as Mums- Dad has a whole host of petnames- some of the usual material, you know, the darlings, dears, wifeys and some of his own, too, though I couldn't be pressed for examples just now. And she's only Mrs. Blake to all and soundry from the parish."

Nan stretched her hand out and he handed over a wooden ladle she had left at the table.

"She must be missing the 'Phil', don't you think?" she smoothly joined their conversation, as if she hadn't been stirring the plums, three times left, five times right, most of the time he spoke. "_I_ dread the day I stop being Nan and become Anne- or a Mrs. Someone."

"Nah, that you won't be," Phil said, having in mind the first rather than the second, and only then realized how his comment may be understood. "I meant-"

"Give it up," Nan said, turning back around. "There, done with you."

Phil was halfway through an apology, when the twins dissolved into a peal of laughter. Nan motioned to the stove.

"I meant the preserves, you-"

"You conversationalist," Di finished for her, catching the disconnected note in her voice. She smacked his shoulder lightly. "Get up and bring those new jars from the pantry."

Nan ladled the sweet out to five jars, failing to distribute it justly- Di covered them with pieces of red gingham and tied bands around the lids and Phil scrubbed the leftovers from the cooling pot and they went out into a lovely, golden Kingsport evening. At the gate they met Walter who had really only come to see Diana, but instantly saw the merit of visiting the famous park.

"Is that chocoplum?" he asked unerringly as Nan walked through the gate he held open for them in a cloud of sweet smell.

"I put aside a jarful for you," Nan assured him, "although I won't vouch it's as half as good as Susan's. Faith had a reading for the Collegiate Reds yesterday about getting used to the rationings, so there you go."

"I think Una makes it very little sugar also," Walter said uncertainly, wagging his chin. "And it's perfectly nice."

At this, not only Di, but Nan pricked up her ears- then, to cover a langushing look she sent him,

"Of course, but that's Una for you. She could probably add salt- if that isn't rationed, too- and still make it 'perfectly nice'. I could do with half her knack for cooking."

"I could do with her lemon snaps."

Walter smiled wistfully and, bending to pick up an apple from the grass, he didn't notice Nan pinching Di's arm with the silent sisterly _we'll have to talk later_.

They entered into the still, calm beauty of the Kingsport Park paired off, Nan and Phil loitering a little behind. Di caught snatches of her twin trying to explain to the poor boy the connections they had to the Wrights and Keiths and Spencers in Avonlea where Delia's wedding was to take place in two days' time.

Di, for her part, walked silently beside Walter, guessing he was talking to the towering pines around them. Kingsport didn't do him half as well as Di had hoped it to; sometimes, when they sequestered together in the garden at Apple Drop and he would just lay with his head on her lap and talk nonsense, he looked again as the Walter of old; but the city was full to the brim with Collegiate Reds running errands, mothers seeing sons off to the stations and whole cohorts of boys in khaki who wandered around the city, shouting with all the vigor of youthful lungs and it all made him transform again into this distant figure she could hardly recognize although she tried, she stried with all her might.

One such cohort was now walking right in front of them in the opposite direction- and, by the looks of it, heading for a collision. Di frowned before recognizing waving Faith among them. They were soon surrounded by a merry crowd looking at them curiously. Phil knew some of the boys, despite being a natural enemy as a Law School attendant on the homestretch, and took it upon himself to introduce the freshettes.

"Blythe!" ejaculated on of the boys, Frank, if Di remembered correctly in the commotion. "You must be Jem's sisters, surely?"

"That we are," Nan smiled pleasantly.

"And which one is Carrots?"

"I'd go with the dark-haired one," David, the handsome one, slapped him on the back of the head. "Softy much?"

"What did you call me?"

"And you're Walter, right?"

In the confusion of laughs and handshakes, Di noticed a face that seems familiar even though it shouldn't. One of the boys- tall, dark, with a peaked, distant look of a faun that reminded her of Walter, only assured enough in his white suit- surely she had seen him somewhere?

"I thought we should have run into each other by know," Nan said suddenly, as she approached him with a smile and a stretched hand.

"I have been looking round, I won't lie," he replied in a pleasantly low and deep voice and with steadiness that made not only Nan, but even Di blush slightly when Nan turned around to introduce her. "Di, you remember Willmouse? We met on the train on my way from Avonlea in June? You should, really, you've been teasing me about him all summer."

Di sent her a terrified look, at which the boy laughed.

"My pleasure," he replied to her awkward greeting with a firm handshake. "You've lived up to expectations, might I add. And you," this to Nan again, "remembered the nickname, of course. I shall woe the day I ever told you about it."

Phil was at a loss with girls, but it soon turned out that the twins would do without his assitance; Nan had met Joss, William's sister and one of the other girls was none other than Alice Parker.

"I thought I saw you around," Di smiled while being embraced warmly; the girl seemed to have taken the whole share of warmth and kindness that had been meant originally for her entire family. Perhaps that was the reason she was the only one of them you could truly like, even if Dad had nothing but appreciation for Dr. Parker's experience.

"A tad stick-in-the-muddy, but a solid specialist," he would say.

Alice didn't seem either of those with her golden, dimpled loveliness. She and Walter greeted as old friends. Di saw a well known spark kindle in his eyes when he watched Alice's bouncing curls. He reached into his pocket for a little notebook he always carried around and smiled archly, when he saw Di notice.

Just as she was beginning to unfurrow her brow, the last one of the girls approached her- and Di scowled again.

"I, ah, I'm afraid I can't help you here, either," Phil said apologetically- but was soon enough interrupted- and not by Diana who stood transfixed and more than anything, wished only to ask Nan whether she had the same mirage impression as she did.

"Oh, but there is no need at all!" her voice still had that little, dreadful quaver Di had remembered so well from her school days.

Delilah Green had once been the bitterest disappointment in Di's ten-year-old universe. She had been more than glad to see the back of her when she moved to Charlottetown. And now she was left to wonder what, in the name of all that's holy, had brought her to Redmond- for she was wearing the white and scarlett, rather ostentatiously pinned to her lapels?! She seemed not to have changed at all, only grown rather tall and shapely- her full figure yet another clear sign her mother was not the dragon she had made her out to be. Her eyes were still large and dark- blue, her hair a sleek sugar-brown knot under a rather festive hat and her small rosy mouth could still warp itself into that sugar-coated smile. She slipped her arm around Di's waist and turned to Phil.

"Diana and I know each other very well. We've been _such_ friends when I still lived in that dear _tiny_ Glen!" she _still_ italicized as much as she had used to. Di was too appalled to speak. Delilah went on glibly when Nan returned to Phil for a handkerchief he had taken, "And with Nan, too, of course!"

Poor Delilah was not to know that the little flashes in Nan's eyes did not bode her well.

"Yes, indeedy," she said with a smile that could match Delilah's own in its sickening sweetness. "That is, of course, _after_ I've matured enough not to pinch Di black and blue. Scandalous behavior on my part!" she addressed Phil directly.

Delilah blushed, maybe for a third time in her life, and withdrew her arm, at which Di went about fixing her jackets ostentatiously. But Delilah's colors added to her beauty- drat her- and Phil didn't give Nan an answer, almost oblivious to her meaningful tone.

He did not recover until after she had departed to the little pavillon with Faith and some of the boys. Willmouse, Joss and Alice stayed with the Student Crescent lot outside and reveled in the warmth of the evening, settling right on the lush grass of the Park. Di sat leaning on Walter's back. Alice plopped down next to her and, much to her amazement, took out a little notebook, similar to the one Walter presently pored over.

"I didn't realize you write," Di probed.

"I don't," Alice stretched out her hand to reveal a sketch of a road that climbed and twisted among the pines behind them.

"Why, that _is_ lovely!"

Alice turned a page around, before stretching out in a languid pose that made her look nothing like the proper, ladylike family friend she had been on a few occasions. And Di hated proper, ladylike family friends.

"That's good to hear- I did want to study art, only Dad said if I wanted to go to college in the first place, it better be something sensible. And I enjoyed my English well enough at first," Di watched her apply sure, but gentle strokes to the paper, not once halting in the conversation, "but, honestly, I'm a little fed up with all the wise things I'v had to take in." She blurred a line with her finger, then jerked her head, smiling wilfully. "Does that make me sound unambitious?"

"Not at all," Di lied chummily, at which Alice raised one eyebrow, making her laugh. "Ask me again when I'm taking my exams. I'll be more inclined to agree with you then, probably."

To their left lay Kingsport with its roofs and spires that Walter was likely making sound poetic at the very moment; and to their right lay the harbor which was poetic of its own accord. Di wanted to see Alice's sketch; she had been looking around rather furtively, making Di wonder why she wouldn't be more open about it, as she was about any other thing. She craned her neck-

Alice had not been drawing the harbor. The sketch was a very good rendition of a boy's head; the hair was too fair for Will's and a little too mussed for Walter's. Then Alice tsk'd her tongue exasperatedly as the firm hand with which she had tried to draw the crook of a broken nose had proven too firm and pierced the paper.

She lifted her head, saw Di's prying eyes and didn't grow angry- she just put one finger to her lips, asking silently for a secret.


End file.
